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1221-writes · 2 days ago

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My Demon His Angel (Lost Souls)

Baby Saja x Angel Reader Chapter Three

Read chapter one (Hello Angel) here

Read chapter two (Patterns) here

Summary-

After the events of the movie Gwi-Ma is trapped by the Honmoon fighting for the little control he has left on the once human souls. The Saja Boys, gifted with partial freedom, navigate living as demons in the human world. With the Honmoon intact, a demon boy band roaming freely despite it, and to top it off occasional lesser demons breaking through. A previously uninterested angel takes interest in the turn of events. Unexpectedly getting pulled in in ways she swore she never would.

‘I’ve never had to tell myself not to interfere. I’ve never wanted to. But now? Now I find myself desperately repeating it to myself for a multitude of reasons. Reasons that send fear coursing through my veins and seep deep into my soul.’

‘I know how this ends, I’m not a fool; of course I know. So why am I still here?’

6.7k words

It was the early hours of the morning when I had finally pulled myself together enough to travel back home, something I was very much regretting now.

Having a dozen tasks to complete for the day and little time to rest beforehand, while I like all other angels don’t need sleep without significant energy expenditure my mental capacity is running on fumes from the unexpected chaos that the blue haired demon has brought to my existence

Despite the feeling of defeat that receiving no answers gave me I still had a sliver of hope that the bite would heal on its own. Of course it didn’t but at least the ache is accompanied by a faint remnant of the warmth from last night.

The warmth is only comforting until I remember what incited it.

‘The blue haired bastard's presence.’

The comfort from the warmth morphs into a bitterness more intense than the bitterness from the ache. As my bitterness increases so does the sting, but even so the faint warmth remains. I let the sting ground me, I’ll find answers eventually, and when I do I’ll rid myself of this ugly mark. I won’t have to ever deal with the demon of my nightmares again after that.

Stretching out my aching limbs I resign myself to the monotonous work I have to get done, putting on a pale pink high neck halter dress. It has little structure to it, slightly flaring out at the waist coming down to mid thigh.The neck ties into a bow at the back, but leaves the upper half of my back exposed. The material is light and breathable, but most importantly it hides the mark that rests where my neck and collarbone meet.

Sitting in front of the mirror I braid my hair up into a braided crown as I create a mental list of all my responsibilities for the day.

Sort through the current requests

Check on the new angel, mentors

Check on the lost souls

Report back to Mahihkan

Only the third and occasionally the fourth are my designated responsibilities, but Mahihkan had asked me to help out with the others today.

‘Of course he chooses today to ask for my help.’

It’s not horribly unusual for him to call on me specifically for help, he knows he can rely on me, if the others are unable to complete their jobs he knows that I am more than capable.

At times I sort through the requests that other Angels have sent in, though for the most part Mahihkan does it himself unwilling to trust anybody to unbiasedly go through them. Only having me do it when he’s spread far too thin.

I finish braiding my hair, tying a white ribbon in a bow to finish it off, deciding that a little makeup would add to the look. I grab some mascara, some pink eyeshadow and a little blush, finishing off with a soft pink lip gloss.

Whether the main reason I choose to do this is because I want to wear makeup today or to avoid my responsibilities a little longer is a tossup really.

Unable to procrastinate any longer I shove on a pair of white block heels with a thick white bow on the back of the heels.

I feel cohesive, put together, on the outside at least. The feeling provides me with energy, Despite my inner spiral I feel ready to take on my list of things to do.

Even if I’ll be getting through them with the thought of a certain demon taking residence in the back of my mind.

With one last glance in the mirror I teleport to the central plaza just outside the town hall. It’s busy bustling with Angels white wings standing proud halos gracing heads like crowns.

The palace stands tall a short distance away, easily the most impressive structure around, though the numerous other buildings around are more than breathtaking. The second most impressive building would go to the colosseum, Massive white columns decorated with chiseled out patterns spreading across the entire perimeter of the glorious white dome.

The town hall is just across from it with fewer, but matching white pillars. A marble statue of wings is displayed on the top of the building.

Nobody bats an eye at my lack of wings and halo on display, already used to me walking around without them, it’s nice, I’m appreciative that they accept this is the way I prefer things.

I walk inside the townhall building ready as I can be, to sort through the countless amount of requests. Thankfully unlike the plaza it’s relatively empty and quiet, only a few staff members around two angels at the front desk and a custodian. The rest of the town hall workers tucked away in meeting rooms and offices.

I reach the request box pulling out the key Mahihkan gave me for the times he asks for my help. Opening the box it’s just as I expected it to be, overflowing with letters of various kinds of requests.

One of the angels from the front desk, Padma walks over with a wooden box passing it over to me with a look of sympathy for the monotonous task.

“Here, good luck sorting through all those.”

I give her a curt nod. “Thanks.”

She smiles walking back over to the front, I begin neatly piling the letters into the portable wooden box picking it up and walking over to one of the offices unlocking it with another key closing the door and locking it behind me to begin sorting through them.

I appreciate the sentiment though usually I don’t mind the monotonous task too much. It helps that I don’t have to help out with it all that often. Today though, today I'm absolutely dreading it.

Hours to do nothing but read through thousands of request letters deciding which ones to grant. And plenty of opportunity for my mind to drift to the demon with the intoxicating glowing eyes.

‘And this is only the first task on my list.’

The others shouldn’t leave as much room for my mind to wander, so best to get this one out of the way first.

Taking a breath in through my nose I resign myself to hell ‘Ironic’

Beginning to read through the requests I only make it through four of them before my thoughts drift to my most recent encounter with the cocky demon.

The way he’s seemed enamoured with the patterns blooming on my skin in response to his touch. The way his satisfaction that I showed up looking for him bled into his face. The way his teasing words sent a warmth through the open wound he left.

‘Heaven give me strength, this is gonna be a long day.’

I have so many questions and the more I think about them the less sense everything makes. It’s driving me insane and I wish that the blue haired demon never came crashing into my life.

I desperately miss the emotionless state I had found comfort in for so long. Doing my best to ignore my own question in favor of focusing on the questions in the requests.

—

It took eight painful hours to comb through all of the requests when it usually only takes four, clearly Mahihkan had neglected them for a while before conceding and recruiting me for help. I’m sure my wandering mind wasn’t any help either.

I accepted two hundred out of the twenty five hundred to be passed onto Mahihkan to make final decisions on. Typically he does approve of all the ones I bring him though.

Grateful to be done, I stand up walking out of the office wooden box in tow, walking back out to the busy plaza teleporting home to safely store the approved requests before teleporting to the first of three new angel, mentors I need to checkup on.

His name is Metztli, an angel close in age to me. He's been assigned to watch over a new angel for the first time, thankfully I only need to collect a written report from him today. The angel who usually takes up this job usually has to examine how the mentors interact with the new angels, but today is the last day for the mentors I’m assigned to with their current angels so only a report is in order.

I walk up to Metztlis front door ringing the doorbell. A few seconds later he opens the door smiling, offering a cheerful greeting, and inviting me inside.

“Y/N, hi, come on in, I’ll go grab my report.”

I wordlessly step inside, his place is tidy, and inviting, but I wish he would have just brought the report with him to the door, sending me on my way.

Instead I’m left standing in his living room with time for my mind to wander unwanted places as I wait for his return.

I can practically smell the sweet scent of vanilla and burnt carmel, I feel like I’m going insane.

‘I need to get rid of this mark and forget about this whole fiasco. I don’t—’

“Got the report!” Metztlis cheery voice interrupts my thoughts, not that I mind the distraction.

He passes me the written report, it’s in a scroll with a white wax halo emblem. “By the way, your perfume smells great!”

“Huh?”

He sniffs the air as he speaks. “The vanilla, and what is that? Burnt caramel?”

‘No, no, no.’

Yet another thing added to my ever growing problems. Another thing I can only assume is related to the open wound on my neck. Another thing happening to me because of the blue haired bastard of the hour.

I don’t let my inner turmoil slip, making sure that my tracks are covered with my plain response. “Oh, yeah, I don’t know that I’ll keep using it for long.”

If I can’t get rid of the scent in a timely manner I can say I changed my mind, and if I get rid of it the way I want to it’s not noteworthy.

“Ah well, good luck with collecting the rest of the reports.”

I offer a monotonic “Thanks.”

Before stepping out of his home, gently shutting the door behind me. I walk out of sight from the house before tilting my head down towards the mark, and sure enough a sweet scent of vanilla and burnt caramel is originating from it.

The confirmation that the scent was in fact coming from the bite was very distressing, my heart rate began to speed up, my eyes beginning to sting from a certain wet quality welling up in them, my breathing becoming more difficult to control.

As panic began setting in, a wave of intense warmth spread through me stemming unsurprisingly from the mark; and, a more intense scent of vanilla and burnt caramel wafted over me.

What was surprising was the way it immediately erased my panicked state. Though the panic was gone, the deep sense of unsettlement, and disdain was stronger than ever.

For the umpteenth time since meeting the blue haired demon I pushed my bubbling feelings down to the best of my abilities.

Teleporting to the next Angel mentor's house forcing myself to move on with my day I walk up and ring the doorbell.

It’s the home of an angel named Frida, she’s hundreds of years my senior, and head of the Soul Guides. Extremely strict to most angels younger than her… and Aseena and Kyrie for their… less than proper behavior.

I’ve apparently made it to her good side going off her actions towards me. She seems to hold some respect for me.

‘I’m sure all that respect would vanish should she discover the demon I’ve… engaged with in ways I shouldn't've’

‘The demon whose mark I wear deeply embedded in my skin’

When she answers the door it’s with impeccable posture and a serious expression gracing her face, the scroll containing her report already in hand.

Her tone is formal and just as serious as her expression. “Good evening, I trust you’ll successfully bring this to Mahihkan.”

My response is simple, but formal enough to please her. “Of course.”

She lets a small smile grace her otherwise serious expression, a slight gentleness seeping into her voice. “I’m sure it’s in better hands with you than with anyone else.” “Get some rest after all your labor today, Mahihkans got you running all over the place today.”

I give her a curt nod that she returns before shutting the door.

Not wanting my mind to wander again I quickly teleport to the third and final angel I need a report from.

Alíbe, they have a few years on me, not many, typically flittering about their day distractedly. Though oddly enough they pull off being a mentor quite well.

Mostly in part to the rather human qualities they’ve kept despite their abundant time existing as an angel. Understandably most of us lose most of the qualities we once possessed in our human lives considering our time as angels exceeds our time as humans greatly.

Alíbe continuing to embrace so many human traits make them a comfort for new angels that most of us can’t offer.

As I go to ring their doorbell I’m hopeful that it will go quickly without any fuss. Before I can ring the bell the door swings open, Alíbe standing in the doorway covered in splotches of paint hands behind their back clearly holding something.

Something that doesn’t seem to be a scroll.

Their voice is quiet but very excited. “Hey! I just finished a painting! Wanna see it?”

It’s amusing regardless of my hopes for this collection to be quick. Alíbe just has an endearing quality to them, and I like painting myself. It wouldn't surprise me if they had planned to show me their latest work the second they discovered I would be taking over the job today.

Letting a little more warmth than I usually offer to people seep into my tone. “Yeah, sure.”

Grandly pulling the painting out from behind their back a beautiful array of colors cast over the colosseum is revealed. The light source is a color of rainbow hitting onto parts of the pillars and refracting onto others.

“It’s incredible. I can ask Mahihkan to display it outside of the colosseum when I report back to him tonight if you want.”

“Yes!”

“That would be great!”

“Okay, I’ll make sure to ask. Do you have your report ready?”

“Yep! Here ya go!” Still cheery as ever they put down the painting and picked up a paint splattered scroll from somewhere behind the door, passing it off to me.

“Thank you.”

“See ya later Y/N!”

Closing the door and presumably going off to paint some more. I teleport back to my house to stash the three scrolls with the approved requests. Still amused by Alíbes cheery nature and now the paint stained report.

‘They’re lucky that they bring so much comfort to new angels, I doubt Mahihkan would be as forgiving about the mess of a scroll otherwise.’

The only thing left to do before paying Mahihkan a visit is check in on the lost souls. A rather depressing task, but a necessary one. Most angels are unable to access the purgatory space, and the few who are avoid it at all costs.

‘The few that can, other than me at least.’

It’s far too easy to lose yourself in the infinite black void of souls that reside in purgatory. Making it more than understandable to avoid the dreary place.

It’s already night time, I’ve been working all day, the requests took up most of my time being more tedious than difficult, the collecting of reports wasn’t particularly hard either; but, I was drained from my little escapade in the human world.

‘After using all the energy necessary to travel to purgatory, I’ll be running on empty energy wise.’

‘Let's just get this over with so I can report back to Mahihkan then go to sleep to regain my energy.’

Sucking up my dread for the exhaustion I knew was coming I closed my eyes focussing on purgatory, the familiar black void, the lost souls, the occasional echoes of voices and emotions, the odd few areas with light refracting in odd unexplainable ways that shouldn’t be possible.

When I open my eyes I’m met with the void of purgatory successfully having transported myself. The exhaustion from my effort hadn’t set in yet, but the heavy weight from the dreary place was more than enough to set me on edge.

Letting my own soul call out to the trapped ones around me searching for any whose state has changed, I'm met with nothing but silence. No other souls around are capable of returning my own soul's call.

It’s not often that souls trapped in purgatory change, even rarer for one to be ready to escape, but it’s important to check on the off chance a soul can be recovered.

The few souls that are able to be recovered can’t do it on their own needing an angel's help to set them free.

Once set free one of four things will happen: either they will be sent to the afterlife where their soul will rest peacefully for eternity, they will become an angel, they will be reincarnated into their next life, or sent to the underworld to repent.

With no souls to free, I close my eyes envisioning my room similarly to how I envisioned the void blinking open my heavy eyelids to the wooden crate of requests and scrolls. Fatigue finally catches up to me, as I pick up the crate and teleport inside the palace just outside Mahihkans office.

Knocking on the door eager to get the day over with, I'm met with Mahihkans soft, tired voice. “Come in Y/N.”

Awkwardly opening the door while still holding onto the heavy wooden crate, before stepping inside letting the door fall closed under its own weight with a thud.

It doesn’t shock me that he knew who was at the door, I’m probably his last visit of the night with how late it is. He’s sitting at his desk tall stacks of papers sitting in organised piles, the document he’s currently writing on is more black than white with the amount of tiny text covering it.

He finishes writing on the document before placing it into a pile I assume is designated for complete documents. It’s the shortest stack of papers on his desk, my sympathy growing at the acknowledgment.

Now looking up at me with tired eyes that match mine as I set the crate on the floor beside his desk he gives me his undivided attention.

I get straight to the point, already fantasizing about letting sleep take me. “I approved two hundred of the twenty five hundred requests, received all three reports, and found no souls ready to be set free from purgatory.”

He looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, genuinity behind every word he speaks “Thank you, I wouldn’t have gotten through everything if I had to fill in to collect the reports, and I had already neglected the requests for far too long.”

Nodding, I turn heel and head for the door.

“Wait.”

Frowning and narrowing my eyes at him as I turn back around.

His tone turns deathly serious. “I know it’s been a long day, but I need to speak to you about something.”

I walk over to his desk taking a seat on the edge resting my arms across my chest with my gaze still slightly narrowed not letting my internal worries be put on display.

‘Does he know about the demon?’

��Know about the bite?’

‘There isn’t any way for him to know. Is there?’

Whatever it is, it's not good even if it has nothing to do with the demon. His mouth forms a thin line as he prepares himself to speak. “Theres been some disappearances.” “You think someone stole a document?”

His voice is sharp. “No.”

I can hear the worry slipping into his voice before he returns to a serious tone of voice. “Not… not material disappearances.”

My own demeanor immediately shifted at the grave implication, taking the conversation very seriously, arms still crossed, but no longer glaring instead letting my usual impassive expression grace my face. Preparing for the worst and forcing my voice to remain steady as I speak. “Angels are disappearing.”

It’s a statement not a question but he confirms it anyways. “Yes.”

“How many?”

“Three now.” His tone remains serious but I can tell guilt crawls its way out of his throat, I know him well, and I can tell this is gnawing at him.

“One is alarming, angels don’t disappear, two is worse, three? Three is devastating. Something is wrong, very wrong.”

There's no question to it, the weight of it final.

I press on emotionally removed, it’s cold but necessary to get to the bottom of the beyond important matter at hand. “Who all knows?”

“Just us. I don’t want to cause alarm… and if it’s an angel responsible I don’t want to tip them off that we’re on to them.”

“You think it’s an angel?”

“I hope not but what else would it be? All the missing angels are angels who wouldn’t be easily noticed as missing. All three of them were soul guides that live far away from the main plaza, and stick to themselves.”

“The only reason I noticed they were missing was because I went over all the soul audits to correct an error that Frida had suspected a new soul guide to have made. It was then that I noticed the first missing angel, Petrus, they hadn’t entered any audits for weeks.

“When I asked Frida about them she said that they hadn’t shown up in weeks, that she wouldn’t have a lazy angel working under her; so if they weren’t going to bother showing up then they weren’t welcome”

“The first angel? How long ago was this? When did you notice the others?”

“I discovered Petrus’ disappearance a little over two months ago, the other two angels, Libye, and Sraosha I discovered over the last two months as I checked to make sure everyone was turning in audits. I only discovered Sraosha yesterday morning.”

“But we’re the only ones who know?” “Yes, I—” “Didn’t you tell Frida when you asked about Petrus?”

“No, I was worried that… I hate to say it, but I was worried that since it was only Soul Guide angels disappearing that maybe she had a part in it.” “Good, I don’t necessarily think it’s her behind this, but I agree that we should keep this tight lipped for now. Fridas response to Petrus ceasing to show up adds up for her, and it’s not like she meets with every Soul Guide frequently, it makes sense she hasn’t noticed three of them missing.”

“Agreed, whoever, or whatever it is that’s causing the disappearances needs to be stopped immediately. I know I’ve asked a lot of you today already, but I need your help.” “Of course.” “I’m still trying to find a solid place to start, whatever is going on, the tracks are borderline impossible to follow, so for now just keep an eye out, and if you have any ideas report back to me immediately.” “Got it.”

“I had thought that maybe you would’ve found their souls in purgatory… and I’m not sure whether or not to be happy that you didn’t. I mean if not in purgatory I don’t know where else they’d end up after whatever happened to them.”

“Their souls could still be in purgatory. I wouldn't notice them unless their souls were ready to leave, looking for a specific soul I’ve never been close to could take an eternity.”

“I know… I just don’t know what else to do right now.”

“I’ll look out in purgatory whenever I go on the off chance I end up next to one of the missing angels' souls.”

“Thank you, hopefully purgatory isn’t where they ended up, and nothing worse than purgatory happened to them either.”

“Yeah…”

Thoughts of worse fates than purgatory cloud over my mind. Purgatory itself is a fate worse than hell in the mind of most angels, a potential permanent state of eerie limbo, no thank you. Something worse is a less than exciting idea.

His voice shifts heavily contrasting the tone used for the prior weighty conversation. “...You know you can just stay at the palace tonight right? You earned your room here, it’s been a long day—”

My own tone shifting to a defensive one. “I like my house.”

He let out a soft chuckle, attention pulled away from the disappearances if only for a second.

“Good night Y/N, get some rest.” “Good night Mahihkan.”

With that I teleported back to my room, thoughts plagued by a multitude of potential horrors.

‘It could be anyone, any angel could be the one doing this, any angel I know personally could be behind this.’

‘Or it could be the blue haired bastard.’

Reaching my hand up to rest over the mark I find myself more unsettled by the thought of it being him than anyone else. The idea that a demon has bested not one, not two but three angels, successfully causing them to disappear is a very unpleasant possibility. A demon that I’ve come in close contact with at that.

Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat I discard my dress and shoes into the hamper, not bothering to undo my hair or take off my makeup before falling onto my bed and succumbing to exhaustion. Letting sleep take me from my problems for a few hours before I have no choice but to face them. As I drift off the last thing my senses take note of is the sweet scent of vanilla and burnt caramel.

—

Blinking open my bleary eyes I’m filled with dread to once again be a part of the waking world. I can feel the smudging of my mascara, the dried out formula slightly sticking to itself every time I blink. It’s the least of my problems, a mundane annoyance in the face of missing angels, a shameless demon, and his enraging reminder lingering on my skin.

All of which I can only presume are interconnected. I lay in my bed staring up at the ceiling. Just when I think he can’t leave me with any more questions. They seem to endlessly compound on themselves indefinitely.

‘I don’t know he’s the cause of the disappearances. I mean he isn’t the only demon still roaming the human world. Plus a demon shouldn’t be able to best an angel regardless.’

‘Even Mahihkan thinks it could be an Angel behind things.’

My first line of thought is rational, the second one fills me with mortification. A demon being responsible should be more desirable to me than one of our own marking themselves as a traitor. Him organizing the disappearances wouldn’t be a betrayal at all he’s a demon it’s expected he would try.

‘No. Not him specifically any demon.’

I try to ignore that I had to correct myself. When that doesn’t work I tell myself it’s because him taking part in the disappearances would affect my ability to get answers about the bite he left me with.

‘Besides if he’s behind angels disappearing wouldn’t he have tried to take me? Whoever it is knows who won’t be missed, it has to be an angel.’

‘And even if he just decided not to take me, but was still responsible for things he would at least have to have recognized me to be an angel.’

Despite my inclination to believe it’s not him, I'm not foolish enough to cross him off the list of possibilities.

‘Trust no one.’

And I don’t, for all I know it could be Mahihkan doubtful, but not impossible. A demon is definitely not to be trusted. The unfortunate situation arises the question of whether or not I should clue Mahihkan in on the whole demon circumstance especially with the bite. Ultimately I decide to hold off for now. It seems more likely to be an angel, I don’t know to fully trust Mahihkan yet, and maybe it’s selfish, but I really don’t want to tell anyone.

The idea of it alone brings anxiety bubbling to the surface; turning onto my stomach, burying my face into my pillow I let out a loud groan.

Lifting my head back out of my pillow I’m met with a begrudgingly comforting familiar smell of vanilla, with the equally familiar undertone of burnt caramel.

‘This bite has got to go.’

‘Maybe I should go looking for him again? See if I can get answers this time or even better get rid of the mark altogether. And see if I can find anything that points to him knowing something to do with the disappearances.’

Again I find myself about to willingly if all begrudgingly seek out the blue haired bastard. Looking down at my pillow stained with mascara I get up to shower and change so I can once more go search for answers.

‘Hopefully this time I’ll be more successful.’

—

Dressed in grey sweats, an oversized black t-shirt not wanting it to look like I put in effort for such a nuisance of a being. Petty as it is, it makes me feel a little better. Despite my lack of effort I still slip a black ribbon tied into a small bow around the bottom of my loose braid for myself. Slipping on plain white sneakers and masking as a human I teleport into the alley in the human world once again.

‘Hopefully he won’t feel the need to touch me again to see the mark if it’s already exposed.’

‘I need to keep my distance this time. No more incidents resulting from close proximity.’

Walking out from the alley into the street It’s busier than last time. Unsurprising considering unlike last time it’s not pitch dark in the middle of the night, but instead midmorning. It again crosses my mind that he might not be here. Though I’m met with an irrational but overwhelming feeling that he is.

Ignoring the few people scattered about the street, I head towards the building not so much as pausing before turning the corner eager to get some kind of answers to anything happening.

And sure enough there he is. Leaning against the building this time rather than on top of it, in a… baggie black t-shirt and gray sweats.

‘You have got to be kidding me.’

I already know that the blue haired demon is not just going to let this unfortunate coincidence go.

He’s still not looking at me the same black baseball cap from the night of the fair covering most of his face. Sucking up my less than excited feelings for the oncoming confrontation I continue walking towards the building. Towards the demon waiting for me.

Even once I reach normal conversation distance he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look up at me. Not wanting to waste time I go ahead and take the liberty of speaking first. “Morning.”

His voice is harsh and filled with irritation. “Oh I’m well aware Angel.”

Irritation creeps up into mine as well. “Aware of what?”

Now looking up at me to glare he steps closer to me. “You left me here all night, I didn’t even know if you’d show up today.”

“What?”

“Why would you have expected me to show up?”

His voice loses the bite as a smirk takes over his face. “Well you did, didn't you?”

My jaw drops and even I don’t know if it’s from his audacity or the complete one eighty of his behavior. Probably some infuriating combination of both.

“You showed up too.”

“Of course Angel, it was well worth it too, you being so cute and deciding to be matchy matchy even makes up for you being so late.” He leans down to kiss my cheek enunciating the last part.

I feel my left eye actually twitch hissing out in response. “Obviously it wasn’t on purpose.”

‘Heavens above he gets on my damn nerves like no one else.’

‘Give me strength’

“Don’t be silly Angel, it’s adorable! No need to be embarrassed.” He coos while gently pinching my cheek. Cerulean eyes practically gleaming.

“Don’t call me that.” I say coolly, slapping his hand away and elbowing him in the stomach.

“Ughn” He groans out, doubling over clearly not having expected the counter attack to his taunts.

He quickly recovers, quiping back within seconds. “Fuck Angel, no need for a pretty thing like you to get violent.”

‘I might actually kill him.’

‘Maybe that would even make the mark go away.’

Before I can contemplate his death anymore than I already have he speaks again. “How’s that mark doing?”

Hopeful that him being the one to bring it up would increase my odds at receiving satisfactory answers. I drop my rage. for now.

“You going to give me answers now?”

“I already told you you’re gonna have to convince me. And I gotta say sweetheart you're not doin a very good job. The matching was a nice touch though.” He shoots me a wink before laughing in my face.

I push on not giving him the reaction I know he wants. “The wound you left me with is worse now.”

His hands reach out towards the mark I step away, but he presses on grabbing my wrist tight enough to bruise.

My voice is steady and low. “Don’t touch me.”

He ignores my order using his other hand to gently brush his fingers over the bite, a stark difference compared to his grip on my wrist. The polarizing contact sends a shiver down my spine as patterns again spread over my skin.

He leans down inches from my face. “Doesn’t look any different to me.”

I weigh my choices in my mind. I could push him away, hit him even, but I doubt that would get me any closer to "convincing" him to give me the answers I need; or I could give up some of my ground in hopes of pleasing him enough to give me what I want. Though it’s not like giving him what he wanted in our previous encounters has gotten me anywhere.

I opt for the latter anyways. Albeit letting venom seep deep into my words along with a glare. “I smell like you.”

Burying his face into the crook of my neck he inhales deeply traveling downwards towards the mark as if chasing the scent. He stays there for an uncomfortable amount of time, it’s awkward we’re in the middle of the street and his presence is overwhelming mine. The few people walking down the street must think we’re crazy.

Finally he stops inhaling and for a second I feel relief flood through my system as I expect him to lift his head away from me but all that relief is immediately drained when instead of pulling away he begins roughly licking at the bite.

Hissing out. “We’re in the middle of the street, what are you doing!” More of a statement intending to inflict shame than a question.

He doesn’t stop continuing on for a solid ten seconds at least before nipping at the bite. I yelped out in pain. The bite wasn’t particularly rough but my nerves screamed out at the sensation. I’m flooded with a new level of sensitivity around the skin surrounding the bite.

Now switching gears he soothes over the skin with gentle licks and kisses forcing an involuntary soft whimper out of my throat. Eyes wide in embarrassment, the hand that he’s not holding hostage flies up to cover my mouth. A desperate preventative measure to ensure I don’t encourage his actions further. Lest he think I want this and try to take things even further.

Letting his tongue drag over the bite one last time before rising back up to my gently peeling my hand away from my mouth. He doesn’t let go of it after holding it gently in his own. It's sickeningly intimate, everything about him and I is really. The hand holding, the close proximity he seems determined to force at all times, the kisses, the mark.

Heavens above the mark. It feels unbelievably wrong, walking around with a mark belonging to a demon on my skin, its demonic qualities ringing even more true whenever he touches it and purple patterns paint my skin. Purple patterns an angel has no business ever brandishing on their skin. It shouldn’t even be possible.

Yet, here I am, purple patterns only one of the symptoms of the demonic mark marring my skin. A sickening scent of vanilla and faint hints of burnt caramel are ever present with me at all times now. At least the patterns only show when he traces over the mark, the scent haunts me almost more than the mark itself does.

I can cover the bite with clothes, but no matter how much I scrub at my skin in the shower the scent lingers off of me for everyone around me to notice.

‘They might not know what it means, but I do, I know the secret of a demon behind it.’

His deep raspy voice pulls me out of my inner spiral. “You do smell like me.” He continues on “But still like you too, like cherries.”

“Cherries? I’m not wearing my perfume today.”

It’s true my signature scent is a sweet scent of cherries, but I’m not wearing it, I wasn’t wearing it the last time we met either, the only time I’ve worn it when near him was the night of the fair.

“Not perfume. You.”

A look at him unamused. “What?”

“You smell like cherries. Fainter without the perfume, but you still smell like cherries.” He says it like I’m dumb. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I blink at him and he takes the wrist he’s holding up to my face pressing the inside of it up to my nose and sure enough there’s the faintest smell of cherries mixed with the smell of vanilla and burnt caramel.

It scares me. I don't know what it means if the scent is now coming from places other than the bite. The way that what according to him is my own scent is something I never noticed doesn’t help my nerves either. Nor the way he seemed to have noticed it from the start.

‘It feels… the mark feels, he feels.’ I struggle to find the right word to describe all of this. The word that I’ve been searching for since the first night he came crashing into my life. It dawns on me.

‘Animalistic.’

He’s a demon and I feel like his prey. His prey that he’s claimed as his by marring its skin for all to see. I’m playing a dangerous game, I knew that from the start, but now that I’ve placed the feeling he gives me I know I need to gain some ground. Some leverage so I’m not completely at his mercy.

“I wonder what will be happening next time you show up to meet me.” He teases his eyes meeting mine as a wide grin paints his face.

It feels like a threat and puts me on edge. Kissing over the bite one last time he pulls his cap down further over his face turning and walking away. Calling out over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow night Angel.”

I don’t follow after him to try and push answers out of him. I just start silently walking back to the alley so I can be out of sight and travel home. Hoping earnestly that he only said that to mess with me and that while this meeting didn’t provide me answers that it at least pushed me closer to getting them.

‘I don’t care how long it takes, I’m going to get answers, and I’m going to rid myself of him.’

#1221-writes #kpop demon hunters #saja boys #fanfic #wip #baby saja #baby saja x reader #baby saja x you

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amtrak12 · 3 months ago

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Me: rolls my eyes and judges fic writers who talk about how they can't control the characters, the characters control them, and then laugh it off like it's a good and valid way to write

Also me while writing my own fic: Oh shit... did you really just think that, [character]? Daaammmn..... I've never considered that for you before, but it makes so much sense. I love it!

#It's different when I do it okay! :P #The characters aren't doing whatever the hell they want in my fic first of all #These realizations happen as I'm drafting and fleshing out the reasons behind their actions that I have already planned #And it leads to some deep and profound moments that sheds light on characterizations that canon took for granted #You know what happens when you let the characters run rampant and you never analyze what you're writing?#You write yet another fic that demonizes characters outside the ship who shouldn't be demonized #Or you write another fic that gets the ship dynamics horribly wrong #and not in a 'we interpret this ship differently' way but in a way that demonstrates some deep internalized biases #These fics come off flat if not outright harmful and whatever good elements you unintentionally write into them does not negate that.#And yes I don't care how skilled you are at writing -- all good elements become an accident if you're not putting thought into #crafting the story #You can't say biases and prejudices that get into the fic are unintentional while still getting credit for the good elements #Fic is for fun yes and yes that means you don't have to edit it and treat it like a novel you want to query before you publish #But if you are putting any effort into your fics at all #-- AND I KNOW MOST OF THESE 'THE CHARACTERS CONTROL ME TEE HEE' AUTHORS ARE PUTTING IN A SHIT TON OF TIME AND EFFORT --#then AT SOME POINT you *have* to extend that effort into planning or editing your fic so you can reel in these biases #You're just being a lazy fuckwit if you don't #Sorry apparently I woke up in a MOOD this morning when I actually went to bed quite pleased #exactly because I discovered something new in Daphne's POV while drafting last night #Whatever. My words are harsh but I stand by it 🤷‍♀️#I will never accept 'the characters do whatever they want' as a valid writing method outside of creative exercises #For stuff you're expecting other people to read that shit better be edited out and cleaned up #so you're telling the story you actually INTEND to tell #And if you don't have an intention even after completing the first draft #then why the fuck are you bothering with this story at all???#DO BETTER!! PRACTICE AND LEARN TO DO BETTER!!

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lorillee · 5 months ago

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literally Nobody want me 💔

#pisses me off cuz like everyone i talk to who knows me and has seen my resume is like omgggg like youll have no trouble finding an interview #like youre plenty qualified theyll be lining up outside the door yada yada yada OK SO WHERE ARE THEY.?#like i appreciate the thought but at this point id rather have everyone tell me im completely unemployable #so that way i might actually be able to do something to change that. but instead its noooo dont worryyy itll work outtt #LIKE GIRL ITS NOT? ITS NOT. and to be honest its starting to annoy me when people say that #because like again im not going to say anything because i know theyre trying to be nice #but also be serious because you have 0 control over me getting hired and the people who do apparently and consistently #have an astoundingly little amount of interest in the matter. like .

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iliveinprocrasti-nationn · 1 year ago

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one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

#i have to sleep a lot. i’m at the point where functioning requires 8 hours of sleep if not more #I should probably be getting 10+ but i’m a student and i work so 8 is the minimum. but then also getting ready for bed is a whole process s #the whole thing can take 10-12 hours depending how much im sleeping. just to make sure i can do anything #that is time in my day i cannot use for anything else. it’s not ‘oh but i can push through it’ because i can’t without spending the next da #lightheaded and nauseous and vaguely dizzy and with such intense brain fog I can’t think with my fatigue so bad i genuinely don’t know how #get myself to work a lot of days. my abled peers don’t have to deal with this at all. they have unlimited study time if they want to #and yeah it is a choice i’m making that’s true i could just not do. except i would lose my job and fail out of college because i would not #be able to get to classes or do my homework or think. but being told ‘but you are making choices about your life’ when i have lost so much #of what i used to be able to do because i am spiralling down and continuing to get worse is so.#literally last year i would wake up at 6:30 and then go to school till 3 and then go to my internship until 10 and get home at 11 and be in #bed anywhere from midnight to two in the morning and then wake up the next day and do it all again. i graduated with a 3.9 gpa and made it #into my top college while dealing with my cancer symptoms and then the two surgeries about it #but now i lose half my day to just making sure i can get out of bed. i can’t go anywhere because my body is physically too exhausted #any extra time goes into doing homework or occasionally time to myself #not decimating my health by doing minimum body care responsibilities isn’t freeing. occasionally i have a good day which is freeing but tha #usually goes into just. other things outside class or work or eating. I don’t go do something for myself or go do something fun on good day #because I still can’t. good days just mean i don’t want to lie down on the pavement when i’m going somewhere #I just. I don’t magically have control over my life because i try to get enough sleep. i lose half my day to doing that and ultimately it’s #just a bodily function that would have to happen anyway #this is a vent post im just having a really hard time right now because it feels like im in exponential decline. it was nowhere near this #bad last semester. my grades are tanking and i have no free time because anything outside of sleep is either work or school #vent tw #yall can rb this just ignore my tags completely #disability #chronically ill #i keep trying to explain to people how pots works because that’s all logical but there’s no way to explain what it’s doing to my body or ho #i feel all the time. the last time i felt this bad was when i had a bad flu or immediately after surgeries because i don’t react well to #anesthesia and always come out of them feeling like shit. and now i just feel like this all the time and it’s only getting worse #I can’t even stay up late anymore because my body feels like it isn’t counting the sleep even if I get 8 hours #I can deal if I have a free day the day after but that just leaves Friday and Saturday nights and I usually still have to do homework

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blackwaxidol · 1 month ago

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Did my eyebrows and reinserted a new septum ring since my old one broke. I look like a bassist for a garage band, don't really hate it to be honest. Vaguely masculine...

#Maybe if my health problems can be controlled and I won't lose big clumps of my hair whenever I do anything I could keep the longer hair.#Not a huge fan of looking particularly 'manly' but—#—I think going outside and looking indisputably like a woman has been causing something in my soul to rot.#Felt like the only choice because I just don't have any confidence in any other form—#—but it occurs to me that it is killing me also.#Sort of a rock and a hard place because I get very embarrassed that places use my male name when I just do not look anything like one.#I haven't talked about anything regarding this in a while because it just ruins my day so much.#I'm not bothered about it at a moment.#If I'm being completely honest I don't think HRT would fix my psychological issues.#If I'm not living or doing much of anything socially to affirm (I hate that word) that I am a male-thing—#—then how is looking like one privately going to help me.#I'd just be rotting like I am currently anyway except I'd actually smell like I'm rotting because showering becomes very very mandatory—#—and I am too unwell both physically and psychologically to maintain it as regularly as I really want.#I'm just so... always embarrassed to be alive aren't I.#I'm starting to really hold a negative opinion on having breasts simply because of how hard it would sabotage the rest of my presentation.#That's something I don't like feeling because I'm terrified of surgery.#I can also only discuss that because I am practically sedated at the moment.#It raises my heart rate a little and makes my hands tremour but it doesn't quite reach me at the moment.#I think I have to live ignoring any dysphoria because I just cannot deal with the possibility.#You saw how well I responded to trying to contact a clinic about HRT.#I had to stop because I could feel something in my mind starting to break.#Not in a psychological breakdown way. I was already having that.#Just... if you know you know. ''The potential for a new part'' type of splitting headache.#One of those things that feels like a warning you have to heed.#Even if I didn't have this problem I just don't think crying everyday for two months straight was good for me.#I tried to ''do it scared'' and it was a complete failure.#God I hate that phrase. It's like... I've done your experiment—now can I have actual help please.#''I have done the thing you say to masturbate your own ego now can you help me for real''#Reaching tag limit. I'm not sure why I went on this rant. It is fine though.#I don't have plans for the evening. I am going to forsake an energy drink and just lounge slothfully I think.

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genderqueerdykes · 9 months ago

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one of the most evil parts about me being told that i needed to lose weight before i could get my diseased gallbladder removed was that without telling me at all whatsoever, the physician's assistant who was responsible for my surgery consult silently gave me a referral for bariatric weight loss surgery. she told me that i'd have to get my gallbladder removal surgery with that department as well because they're used to working on bigger bodies.

she told me this, but that's not what she meant. she wanted me to get bariatric weight loss surgery all because i told her that i have poly cystic ovarian syndrome and that it's hard for me to willingly lose weight. when i called the bariatric surgeons about scheduling my consult for my gallbladder removal, they were extremely confused and were like "well is this for the bariatric surgery referral or the gallbladder removal referral?"

without my permission, without me asking, the physician's assistant silently signed me up for weight loss surgery that i never consented to. i never once mentioned wanting this surgery. i never once mentioned that my weight is affecting my health or bothering me. this person saw this as a mandatory step in order to get the surgery to remove my diseased organ. as if there were no other options. i never want to get bariatric weight loss surgery because i know it will completely devastate my health. this PA was so stuck on my weight. she could not get over it, she was literally obsessed. she did not care about my health, safety or well being, she was just obsessed with her hatred of fat people

she saw my weight as a higher priority than my diseased gallbladder. she was so stuck up her own ass that she was convinced that my weight was doing more damage to me than my gallbladder was. she wanted to keep blaming me for eating a high fat diet (i'm a vegetarian- i don't eat a high fat diet) and mocking me for being fat. she literally saw me being fat as a bigger issue than the fact that i had a literal rock stuck in the neck of one of my organs. if you ask me, if the surgeons and anesthesiologists have problems working on fat patients, that's a skill issue on them. that means you're a bad surgeon or anesthesiologist and you need to try to improve your skills. this is a literal skill issue, it's not the patient's fault that the medical professional fucking sucks at their job!

i can't describe to you how evil and insidious that is. the fact that she looked at me and went "oh my fucking god it's your weight that's the problem just go lose weight you fat asshole" just showed how much disregard she has for her fat patients. it's like she relishes torturing us or leaving us to be sick or die. there's no reason to behave this way. there's no reason to FORCE someone into weight loss surgery. my health is NOT being negatively impacted by my weight- gallstones are not caused by being overweight, and you can't give yourself gallstones. no matter how much fat you eat you can't give yourself gallstones- this is something that happens outside of your control

i hate medical professionals who are proudly fatphobic. they wear the fact that they let people remain sick and die as a badge of honor. like they're doing the world a favor. like staying sick or dying is better off for the patient. like the patient somehow doesn't "DESERVE" to be in good health. fat people DO deserve to be in good health. we DON'T have to "EARN" surgeries or life saving procedures. we are alive and human just like everyone else. this qualifies us for being cared for medically, no matter what. leave your prejudices at home. you can't just kill fat people because you don't like that we exist.

#cripple punk #crip punk #cpunk #chronically ill #chronic illness #chronically chill #our writing #fatphobia #fat liberation #fat lib #about us

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tinystarbites · 10 months ago

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accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

#tinywrites #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fanfic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #tinywrites:accidents #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader

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houseofaegon · 2 months ago

Text

Don't Let Go ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. rough sex, emotional sex, public sex, mental health themes (trauma, guilt, PTSD), depictions of breakdowns, emotional, angst, praise kink, possessiveness, aftermath of violence, unprotected p in v, guilt, self-loathing, established trauma bond.

Summary: The mission was supposed to be clean. Routine. But nothing is simple when the Sentry is involved, when Bob loses control, and the Void takes over. And when he does, you're the only one who can pull him back.

Word Count: 4658

Author's Note: don't even ask me if I'm okay cause the answer is no. I'm destroyed. completely destroyed and emotionally wrecked. i am ruined. bob reynolds ruins me. if you finished this and also felt like your heart's been pulled out and kissed back to life, welcome to the club. my inbox is open if you want to send me your therapy bill—just know I’m probably gonna have to come with you cause what the fuck. i love you bobby you're everything to me!!! if you want to be added to my taglist just comment below!! <333 feel free to cry with me in the comments and scream in the reblogs. i need to go outside and touch some grass, reconnect with nature and breathe cause my heart is destroyed after this one. i literally can't stop writing for bob what the hell!! bucky is jealous cause bob's taking up space in my mind that used to belong to bucky. lewis pullman you babygirlllllllllllll

masterlist.

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The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Detain the targets, secure the entire facility, and minimize civilian casualties. Standard Thunderbolts cleanup. You'd done this dance before—storm in, assert dominance, extract data and bodies. Easy.

But you knew the moment Bucky said, "Bob's on this one," everything in your chest went cold.

The tower was quiet, too quiet, until it wasn't. Until the entire place was filled with hurried footsteps, shouts bouncing off the walls, and orders being thrown like grenades, gear bags being slammed open, weapons loaded with sharp clicks, and comms lighting up with rapid-fire intel. The whole floor shifted into emergency mode.

You'd barely finished gearing up when Yelena grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the elevator, her expression tight, mouth set in that grim, no-bullshit line that only ever meant bad news.

"Valentina wants all of us on-site," she muttered, pressing the call button with enough force to crack the panel. "Right now. Facility breach. Something about biotech. Hostages."

"Since when do we scramble before briefing?" you asked, yanking the zipper of your new tactical suit closed, holster strap still half-loose dangling on your hip. "Do we even have a plan?"

Yelena didn't answer. She didn't have to.

When the elevator doors opened, Bucky was already inside, pacing back and forth. His jaw clenched, comms piece buzzing with chatter. He looked up when he saw you—but he didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

Jeez, so much for a good morning.

"Let me guess," you said, stepping into the elevator next to him. "Valentina's stunt?"

"She pulled Bob in last minute," Bucky said, his voice laced with frustration. "Didn't even care to fucking tell me. I found out when I saw his name on the team feed. Walker's there with him, Ava too."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you froze. "She put him first? With Walker?"

“She wants to see if he's still 'field-capable.'" Bucky's voice dripped sarcasm. "Her exact words. She thinks this is some kind of game. Like we're testing out a new drone, not a man who nearly blacked out half of a city six months ago."

“Is she out of her fucking mind?” you hissed. “Bob’s not—he’s not ready. He shouldn't be anywhere near this.”

“No shit,” Yelena muttered from the other side, crossing her arms. “And we’re the ones who’ll have to clean up if he loses it again.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to damp down the rolling anger in your chest. Not at Bob—of course not, this wasn't his fault. You were mad at Valentina and her fucking need to push him to the edge. "Great," you muttered, rubbing your face with a hand. "Let's all just hold hands and pray he doesn't crack."

The VTOL sliced through the clouds like a blade, engines humming low and tense. Rain battered the sides in sharp bursts.

You sat strapped between Yelena and Alexei, your harness tight across your chest, heart beating even tighter beneath it. Across from you, Bucky was locked in, jaw clenched, staring out the side window with a look that could shatter the glass any moment. When he finally looked away from the window, he fixed his gaze directly on you.

"I need you to be ready," he said, voice low and rasped. "In case Void—" He paused, breathing raggedly. "In case Bob snaps."

You blinked. "Bucky—"

"If it happens," he cut you off, "if he breaks... don't wait for an order. Do not hesitate. You hit him with everything you've got."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Because you hesitated.

Not because you didn't understand the danger. Not because you didn't know what Bob was capable of when the Void took hold. You'd seen it. Firsthand. The devastation. The aftermath. The look in his eyes—those dark, endless eyes—when he realized what he’d done.

But you'd also seen something else. You'd also seen the other side of him. The guilt

You'd been there the last time. When the Void clawed its way up his throat like poison, he dropped to his knees, shaking, burning with power, guilt, and fear. You were the only one who could get through to him. The only one who could touch him without him recoiling like he might shatter.

You'd whispered his name and watched his fist unclench slowly. You'd put your hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat slow. You'd seen how the black storm slowly evaporated, leaving a broken man sobbing against your chest.

That night was the worst for Bob.

You remember it vividly—his body trembling against yours, eyes wide and hollow after the Void had finally disappeared. He hadn't said a word. Just sank to the ground, hands fisting in his hair, like he was trying to hold his skull together.

You’d dropped down beside him, pulled him close, felt the heat radiating off his skin like a fever breaking. And when he finally clung to you—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder—it wasn’t just desperation. It was terror. Like if he let go, he’d fall into some pit that never ended.

He cried.

God, he cried so hard.

And you didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to soothe it away. You just held him. Let him shake. Let him break.

That night, you stayed with him.

He pulled you into bed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it—just moved toward your body like it was instinct, like your presence was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. His fingers curled in your shirt, his face buried in your chest, breath hiccuping between exhausted sobs.

You thought he’d fall asleep eventually.

He didn’t. Not right away.

He kept whispering, voice barely audible: “Don’t leave. Please. Just… don’t leave.”

And how could you?

You didn’t.

So you stayed.

And when he finally passed out—curled around you like a second skin, little soft snores slipping past parted lips—you just watched him. His face was peaceful for once. Almost boyish. His lashes fluttered when he dreamed, but he didn’t cry out. Not with you there.

You tried to slip out once.

Just to stretch. To breathe. But the second your body shifted away, his arms tightened like a vice, dragging you back in, even in his sleep. Like his subconscious couldn’t bear the thought of you disappearing.

From that night on, it became… a thing.

Every time he had a nightmare. Every time the Void started to whisper again. Every time he needed quiet but didn’t know how to ask for it—he came to you.

He never knocked loud. Just a soft tap on your door, barely audible. You’d open it to find him standing there, shoulders hunched, hair messy, eyes big and guilty and so shy. Like he hated himself for needing you but couldn’t help it.

“Can I…?” he’d start to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And you’d always let him in.

Always.

God, you loved it. Loved being the one person he came to. The one place he felt safe. The way he melted into you the second the door shut. The way he’d sleep tangled in your arms, legs hooked with yours like he needed as many points of contact as possible to stay grounded.

You never told anyone.

You never wanted to ruin it.

It was quiet. Sacred. Yours.

And now, strapped into this VTOL, Bucky’s words still echoing in your ears—“Don’t hesitate. Hit him with everything you’ve got”—all you could think about was how peaceful he looked in your bed. How tightly he held you. How terrified he was of being alone.

Because what if you could reach him again?

What if hitting him wasn’t the answer? What if all he needed was someone to see him before he disappeared completely?

Bucky must’ve seen the flicker in your expression, because his voice dropped lower.

“I know you’re close to him. I know he listens to you more than anyone else. But if that stops—if he doesn’t hear you this time... don’t let him take you down with him.”

He’ll hear me, you thought, jaw clenched.

He has to.

Yelena’s hand reached over, slow and steady, her fingers brushing against yours before curling around them. Her grip was warm, firm—anchoring. You turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

She gave you a small, quiet smile. The kind that didn’t promise everything would be okay, just that you wouldn’t be alone when it wasn’t.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispered. "We'll be right behind you."

You squeezed her hand back, once.

"Visuals confirm contact inside the facility," the pilot’s voice crackled through the comms. "We’ve got movement near the lab sector. Hostiles engaged. Sentry’s already on-site."

You looked up sharply. "Already?"

He wasn’t supposed to engage alone.

Bucky swore under his breath, ripping the earpiece out and jamming it back in. "Why the fuck didn’t you wait for us—"

Ava spoke through the comms, her voice shivering. “He didn’t wait. I told him to stand down, and he just… went in.”

Then the ground came into view through the viewport—flames licking up from the roof of the biotech facility, smoke pluming into the sky, the perimeter in total disarray.

"Doors open in twenty seconds," the pilot called.

You shivered. You could feel it. That humming tension in your bones, the kind that only came right before everything went to hell.

He's already slipping.

"Get ready," Bucky barked, snapping his rifle into place as he stood. "Move fast, eyes sharp. We don't know how bad it is yet."

Yelena stood up, nodding once, checking her gear. You followed closely behind.

“Hostiles are still active inside,” came another voice—Walker’s, sharp and panicked over comms. “But it’s—fuck, it’s a massacre down here. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. I can't see him. He’s not fucking responding.”

Your heart clenched.

“Bob,” you whispered, barely audible.

Then: a boom.

A section of the lower level erupted in a plume of golden-white light, fire tearing up through the concrete as the building shook from the force of it. A pulse of energy rippled outward, flattening a chunk of the south wall like paper.

The VTOL lurched slightly from the shockwave.

“Doors opening!” the pilot shouted. “Deploy, deploy—go, go!”

The ramp dropped—and the storm hit you in the face.

Rain. Smoke. Sirens. And somewhere beneath it all, a familiar hum.

You ran.

Boots pounding against the rooftop, leaping the last few feet to the access hatch. Bucky and Yelena flanked you, weapons drawn, slicing through the chaos with practiced precision.

You barely had time to adjust before Bucky grabbed your arm, spinning you toward him. His face was grim, soaked, eyes blazing.

“Go!” he shouted over the roar. “You need to find him!”

“What about—?”

“We’ll handle the rest!” he cut in, already moving, already aiming down the chaos below. “If anyone can reach him before he turns this whole goddamn place to ash—it’s you. Yelena will be right behind you. Walker and Ava are already inside. Go!”

Your breath hitched.

Then you nodded, once, sharp and sure.

And you ran—straight into the smoke, straight into the fire.

Straight toward him.

The inside of the facility was a warzone. Emergency lights flickered through thick smoke. Sparks rained from broken ceiling panels. The walls were scorched, the tile beneath your boots cracked and slick with blood and water. You passed fallen bodies—some hostiles, some just gone, disintegrated into scorched outlines and ash.

He’d been here.

You ran faster. Your breath became shorter. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

And then you saw him.

Floating.

Just inches off the ground, his body trembling with power barely held in check. His suit was torn, soaked, blood-slick. His hair clung to his forehead in damp curls. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled in like claws.

He hand't noticed you yet. He was talking to himself, low and frantic, like he didn't even realize sound was coming out of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to—I tried, I tried, they didn’t listen—I told them not to run—why did they run—”

Your heart clenched. You took a breath, steady and slow. Lifted your hands, palms open, non-threatening. Stepped forward, one careful step at a time.

"Bob," you whispered.

His head jerked up like a struck animal. His eyes were pitch black. Not just his pupils. Everything. You could see the Void slowly taking over control of his entire body. Crawling across his skin in veins of shadow, threading through him like poison, claiming more and more by the second. There was nothing human in his face.

Then he saw you.

You took another step forward, heart hammering against your ribs.

"Bob," you said again, softer now.

His lips parted. The black in his eyes shimmered, like something beneath it was trying to break through, trying to remember.

You took another step.

"I'm here," you said, voice steady despite the tremble in your hands. "It's me."

"GET DOWN!" a voice screamed behind you.

You barely turned in time to see the soldier—young, shaken, finger already tightening on the trigger of his rifle, aimed straight at Bob.

“No!” you shouted, throwing a hand out. “Don’t—don’t shoot him!”

But it was too late.

You whipped back toward Bob—and his hand was already rising. Not fast. Slow. Deliberate.

Eyes locked on the soldier, face blank and unreadable, voice low and distant.

“Mine.”

“Bob!” you screamed, adrenaline tearing through your veins like lightning. You rushed toward him, arm outstretched. “STOP! STOP!”

A pulse of black energy burst from his palm. It didn’t make a sound. It didn’t explode. It just erased. The soldier was there—and then he wasn’t.

No scream. No blood. Just a curling wisp of smoke, and a blackened shadow scorched into the tile where he’d stood. Like reality itself had been scrubbed clean.

Your breath caught. Your body froze.

The soldier was gone. Just like that. And Bob? He didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just stood there, hand still raised, void energy curling around his fingers like it wanted more.

You moved before you even realized it.

You ran.

“BOB!” you screamed, voice hoarse with panic.

You slammed into him, hands flying up to grab his face—rough, desperate, grounding. Your fingers dug into his jaw, into his cheeks, trying to feel him, shake him loose from the darkness overtaking his body.

“Bob! Look at me!” you yelled, tears already slipping down your face. “Fuck—look at me, please!"

His head twitched in your grip, eyes still black, but they widened. Like he didn’t know how you got so close. Like he didn’t even recognize his own name.

“You promised,” you choked out, forehead pressed against his. “You promised you wouldn’t let this happen again. You said I could help you. You let me in. Bob, please, I know you can hear me. Let me in. Let me help you."

And then—

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The black void in his eyes gone, replaced by fear. Replaced by gut-wrenching guilt.

And suddenly his hands were on you—gripping your arms, trembling hard. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped, voice splintering in his throat. “I just… he—he pointed that gun at you. I—”

His knees buckled.

You caught him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped again, clinging like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, fingers stroking through his hair, down his back. “I know, it’s okay. You’re okay—I got you. I'm right here."

You could feel it under your hands—the tension building again. The static crawling across his skin. He was shaking harder now, like he was trying to hold himself together with bare hands and sheer will, and it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“I told them,” he growled, voice rising, wild and hoarse. “I told them not to send me. I told them—I told them!”

“Bob,” you tried again, your hands cradling his face, trying to ground him. “Stop—just breathe, okay? Look at me. Just look at me. It’s over. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Bob—”

“Holy shit,” someone gasped.

You turned. Too fast. The team stood there. Yelena’s eyes were wide. Ava’s mouth hung open. Alexei looked stunned. Bucky was frozen mid-step.

And Walker? Walker’s gaze went straight to the scorched mark on the floor, and his lip curled.

“What the fuck did he do?”

That was it.

You snapped.

“You were supposed to look out for him!” you roared, your voice echoing down the hall like a whipcrack. “You knew he wasn’t ready! You knew, and you left him in there anyway—what the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Don’t yell at me because your little pet project finally snapped—”

You stepped toward him so fast Yelena actually reached out to stop you.

“Say that again, Walker.” you dared, low and deadly. “Say it. Fucking say it again.”

“Guys—” Ava started.

“Oh my god,” Yelena whispered behind you.

And that’s when you realized—Bob wasn’t in your arms anymore.

You turned, panic already in your throat. He was standing a few feet away, eyes locked on the floor, fists clenched. His shoulders were shaking, his jaw tight, like he was about to split open.

The way they were all looking at him. Like he was a monster.

And he saw it. He saw everything.

“No, no, wait—” you started.

But he was already moving. He shoved past you, not roughly—never roughly—but like he couldn’t stand to be touched anymore. Like he didn’t deserve it. And then he ran.

You didn’t hesitate.

You ran after him.

You found him down a back alley, drenched in rain, his back pressed to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath. He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you could see it—how close he was to falling apart, how the power still surged beneath his skin, barely contained. His body shook with it, with guilt, with the kind of rage that didn’t know where to go.

You took a step closer and he shifted like he was going to bolt again, eyes flicking to the shadows like he could vanish into them.

You grabbed his wrist. Tight. “Don’t run.”

That stopped him. His breath hitched, but he didn’t turn.

“Bob,” you said, softer now, over the pounding rain. “Please. Look at me.”

He turned slowly—and god, the look on his face broke you wide open. Soaked, shattered, eyes full of guilt and too many unsaid things. He looked like he didn’t believe he deserved to stand in front of you. Like just being seen by you hurt.

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

Like he needed your mouth to remind him he was still real.

The kiss came out of nowhere. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. You collided like two storms, all sharp edges and soaked skin. His mouth crushed yours, messy, uncoordinated, bruising. You dragged your hands through his rain-slick hair, pulled him closer until your bodies slammed together. He groaned your name like it hurt to say it, like it ripped something open inside him just to speak it.

You kissed him back with everything you had, dragging your fingers through his soaked curls, pulling him closer, crushing your lips to his until your teeth clacked and your breath fogged the air between you. He whimpered into it, raw and broken, hands clutching your waist through your suit like he didn’t know where to touch, like he needed to touch everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against your lips, voice already hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—” His words cut off with a sob. You shushed him with another kiss, slower this time, lips brushing his like a promise.

“I need you,” he breathed, voice broken. “God—I need you, I need you so bad—I can’t—fuck—don’t let go—please, don’t let go—”

Your gear hit the wall behind you, water slapping between you like applause. His mouth was on your throat, biting, sucking, moaning, as your hands worked beneath his already ripped suit, shoving it aside, frantic to get to skin. His hips rocked into yours like he couldn’t stand being apart from you even for a second.

“Please,” he groaned again, breath hot against your ear. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just—fuck—just let me have you.”

You gasped, arching against him, letting him press you tighter to the bricks. You were already soaked—skin flushed, thighs shaking—and the way he clung to you like you were the only real thing left in his world snapped something open inside you.

You grabbed his face, kissed him hard, desperate. “Take it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Take anything. Everything. I’m all yours, Bob.”

He whimpered—actually whimpered—and that was it.

Your suit came undone in ragged pieces, his hands tearing at fastenings with trembling fingers, your legs wrapping around his waist as he shoved your soaked underwear aside. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, grinding his cock against your slick center until you cried out, nails raking down his back.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped. “You want it, don’t you? You want me to lose it for you—inside you—?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, tilting your head back as he pushed in. “Yes, yes—please—”

He thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke and you screamed, fingers clawing at his soaked suit, legs tightening around his hips. He was so deep, so hot, so real, and the way he fucked you—fast, rough, relentless—was like he didn’t know if he’d survive without this. Without you.

Every thrust hit something raw, something needy, his voice ragged against your ear. “You’re mine—you’re mine, say it—fuck, say it—”

“I’m yours,” you cried, body shaking. “I’m yours, Bob—fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

He sobbed against your throat, thrusting harder, faster, panting between curses and broken prayers. “You’re perfect—so perfect—god, you feel so good—you make everything quiet. You make it all fucking stop—”

And when you came, it hit like a shockwave—your whole body convulsing around him, mouth open in a wordless scream as he slammed into you, burying himself deep and coming hard, spilling inside you with a desperate cry of your name like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He held you afterward like he might never let go, still shaking, still breathing like he’d run through hell. His forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, and this time, it was a vow.

His breathing was ragged.

Shallow gasps against your neck, chest rising and falling like he was still trying to outrun something only he could see. The rain hadn’t let up. It fell in heavy sheets around you, but neither of you moved. You stayed wrapped around him, trembling, your back against the soaked alley wall, his body still buried in yours, shaking with the aftershocks.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even lift his head.

His arms stayed locked around your waist like a vise, like if he let go even a little, you’d disappear. You felt him swallow, once, twice—and then his shoulders began to shake in a different way.

“Bob?” you whispered, hand sliding up to the back of his head, fingers weaving through his soaked hair. “Hey. Hey, I’m here.”

He sobbed.

Quiet at first. Just a ragged breath that stuttered out of him like it had been waiting for too long. Then another. And another. His whole body trembled, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he finally—finally—let himself fall apart.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he choked out. “I tried—I tried so fucking hard—I just wanted to be useful, I wanted to help—and I killed him—”

You shushed him softly, rocking him gently where you stood, your hands stroking down his back.

“You came back to me,” you said, voice low. “That’s all that matters. You came back.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he rasped, holding you tighter. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “You do. You do. You’re still here. You’re still you. That’s all I care about.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever—him wrapped around you like a lifeline, your bodies still locked together, breathing in sync. The heat between you slowly cooled, but the weight of it all stayed heavy, real.

Eventually, his head lifted, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks wet.

He looked at you like he didn’t believe you were real. Like maybe you were the only thing left in the world that hadn’t abandoned him.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, thumb brushing over the scar just below his eye.

“I know,” you said. “But I’ve got you.”

And he leaned into your hand like a man starved for touch.

Back at the tower, everything was chaos—shouting, agents scrambling to do damage control, the team fighting with each other, trying to put the blame on someone—but none of it touched you. Not when you had him. Not when he never once let go of your hand.

You didn't go to the infirmary. Didn't sit through the debrief. Bucky tried to say something, but you just shook your head. Bob didn't even look at him. At no one.

You led him straight to your room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, his body sagged like the air had left him entirely. You helped him out of the rest of his suit, piece by piece, your fingers gentle even when your heart still ached from the weight of it all. He did the same for you, so soft, so gentle, like he was afraid to hurt you.

You pulled him into your bed without a word.

He followed like he always did. Like he couldn’t not.

He wrapped around you the way he always did—legs tangled, arms tight around your waist, face buried against your neck. But this time it wasn’t just comfort.

It was clinging.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just held on.

You stroked his hair, tracing slow patterns into his scalp, letting your breath match his until he calmed, until that tremble in his shoulders finally stilled.

But he still didn’t sleep.

You felt him shift closer, nose brushing your collarbone. His voice, when it came, was wrecked and so, so quiet.

“Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.

You didn’t answer right away. You could feel how tightly he was holding his breath, like he was bracing for the worst. You pulled him closer, your fingers threading through the back of his hair, your lips brushing against his forehead.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “They know it. Even if they won’t say it out loud. This—what happened—you didn’t want this. And they know that.”

He didn’t reply, not at first. But you felt it—the way his chest stuttered, how he finally let himself breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, broken.

“I know.”

“I was so close,” he said, voice cracking like glass. “I could feel it. Like I was right there. One more second and I wouldn’t have come back.”

“But you did,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. “You came back to me.”

He shuddered, breath hitching again as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Leaving a soft kiss that made your heart clench. “You’re the only one that brings me back,” he whispered. “The only one.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You just held him tighter.

And finally—finally—he started to drift.

It wasn’t peaceful. He twitched. Mumbled things you couldn’t make out. Flinched like his dreams were still trying to drag him under.

But he didn’t wake.

Because you were still there.

And he knew it.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

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be4chywritez · 4 months ago

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trophy boyfriend | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x actress!reader

rec: can you PLEASE do like a actress!reader x quinn hughes and like hes just a dork around her

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

The hum of soft jazz plays in the hotel suite as your glam team moves around you like a well-oiled machine. A makeup artist dabs at the corner of your lips, a stylist adjusts the sparkling hem of your designer gown, and a hairstylist puts the final touches on your updo.

Across the room, Quinn is struggling with his cufflinks.

You glance at him through the mirror, watching as he frowns down at the small buttons, his fingers fumbling slightly. It’s adorable, really—the way this man can maneuver a puck at lightning speed but is absolutely defeated by formalwear.

With an amused sigh, you wave off your team.

“Okay, okay, I got it from here,” you say, standing up and making your way over.

Quinn lets out a breath of relief. “Thank god.”

You shake your head, taking his wrist in your hands. “You are an Olympic athlete,” you tease, carefully fastening the cufflink. “You have literal hand-eye coordination of steel. But this? This is what beats you?”

He huffs. “These things are impossible.”

You smirk, moving onto the next one. “They’re not impossible, babe.”

Quinn just watches you, his expression softening. The way your fingers move with ease, the way you’re so gentle with him, the way you look so stupidly beautiful up close.

And then, before he can stop himself—

“Jesus,” he breathes, low and awed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your fingers pause.

The words hit you straight in the chest, so raw, so genuine that it makes you blink up at him.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah?”

Quinn nods, completely transfixed. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs rubbing over the fabric of your dress. “Like—so beautiful. I don’t even—” He exhales, shaking his head, almost in disbelief. “—I don’t even have words for it.”

You bite back a grin. “You just said a whole sentence, love.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “You know what I mean.”

You do. And the warmth in your chest tells you it’s mutual.

The luxury black SUV glides through the streets of Los Angeles, the distant flashes of cameras already visible as you near the venue.

Quinn shifts slightly beside you, adjusting the cuffs you helped him with earlier. He looks perfect—classic black tux, tousled hair, sharp jawline that’s gonna make Twitter implode in approximately thirty minutes.

But you can tell he’s a little on edge.

“You okay?” you ask, placing a hand on his knee.

Quinn glances at you, then lets out a small huff. “I just—” He rubs a hand over his face. “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

You tilt your head, squeezing his knee. “Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “I mean, look at me. I play hockey. My idea of a big night is, like… eating pasta before a game and going to bed by ten.”

You smile. “Sounds like a riveting lifestyle.”

“I’m serious,” he mutters, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

You soften, lacing your fingers with his. “Quinn, you do belong here. I wanted you here, with me. No one else. Just you.”

He glances at you then—really looks at you. The sincerity in your voice, the way you’re still holding his hand even when the cameras outside are waiting to catch every move.

And maybe… maybe he does belong here.

Or at the very least—he belongs with you.

The second your car door opens, the lights and noise explode.

You step out first, flashing an effortless smile, moving through the flashing cameras like second nature.

Quinn follows.

And immediately freezes.

The sheer volume of photographers, the shouted questions, the flashes—it’s all so different from the controlled environment of a post-game media scrum.

His expression doesn’t change, his posture stays stiff. He doesn’t react.

Except—when he looks at you.

You turn back, reaching for his hand. The second he takes it, his fingers curling around yours, something shifts. His shoulders drop slightly, his face loses the blank tightness.

The cameras eat it up—Quinn Hughes, usually stoic, softening the moment you touch him.

But the second you turn away to answer a question, he’s back to looking completely out of place.

The interviewers try.

“So, Quinn! How does it feel being at the Oscars with Y/N tonight?”

He blinks. “Uh… it’s cool?”

A beat of silence.

The interviewer laughs politely. You don’t even try to hide your smirk.

Quinn, to his credit, doesn’t crumble. But you can sense it—the way his hand tightens slightly in yours, the way his jaw tenses.

He’s not freaking out, but he’s not loving it either.

You make a quick decision.

Instead of lingering for more interviews, you squeeze his hand and lean in. “Let’s go inside.”

Quinn doesn’t hesitate.

As you lead him through the last waves of flashing cameras and into the safety of the venue, you feel it—his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Like a silent thank you.

And when you glance up at him, finally out of the public eye, he gives you a small, private smile.

It’s the first real one of the night.

The theater is breathtaking—warm lights reflecting off golden décor, a hum of energy rolling through the crowd, the biggest names in Hollywood all gathered in one place.

At your table, Quinn sits beside you, his hand resting casually on your knee under the table. His touch is warm, grounding, everything you need to keep yourself from overthinking.

The show moves on, category after category, but as the night stretches on, so do your nerves.

And then—

“And now, the nominees for Actress in a Leading Role…”

Your name flashes across the massive screen, the camera cutting to you at the exact moment your heart slams against your ribs.

You don’t move.

You’re hyper-aware of the way your breathing slows, of how the applause fades into a quiet hum in your ears.

Then—Quinn’s hand tightens around yours.

You glance over.

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles—soft, steady, like he’s reminding you that no matter what happens, he’s right there.

"You got this," he murmurs. So sure.

Your pulse steadies. You squeeze his hand back.

The presenter opens the envelope.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

The pause stretches.

Your stomach flips.

And then—

They say your name.

For a moment, the world stops.

Your mind blanks, heart hammering, ears ringing. You barely register the way the crowd erupts, the way your co-stars cheer.

But Quinn?

Quinn is already on his feet.

He’s not over-the-top, but he’s clapping immediately, beaming. It’s pure instinct—his entire face lit up, dimples deep, eyes wide with pride, awe, love.

You push your chair back, standing on shaky legs, but before you go anywhere—before you even think about stepping onto that stage—you turn to him.

You throw your arms around his neck, holding onto him first.

His arms wrap around your waist without hesitation, his grip strong, his warmth grounding you.

And just as you pull away, you press a quick, breathless kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then you’re moving—up the stairs, onto the stage, into the blinding lights, the golden statue placed in your hands.

You thank your director, your cast, your team. You keep it short, simple, heartfelt.

And then, just before you finish, your eyes drift back to where Quinn is still standing.

He’s still clapping, still smiling. Like you just hung the stars.

“And, of course,” you add, a small smile pulling at your lips, “to the person who reminded me every day that I could do this. Who never let me believe otherwise. Thank you, Quinn.”

The second you step behind the curtain, Oscar clutched in your hand, your heart still pounding, your eyes immediately scan for him.

It doesn’t take long.

Quinn is waiting just a few feet away, standing with his hands in his pockets, his smile so big it’s practically blinding.

And before he can say anything—before he can even move—

You run straight into him.

He barely has time to react before you throw your arms around his neck, jumping up slightly as his arms come around you.

He catches you with ease, his laugh warm against your ear.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands cradling his face. His skin is warm, his smile softer now, his hands still holding you tight like he’s not quite ready to let go.

“You did it,” he murmurs, voice full of something so deep, so real. “I knew you would.”

Your fingers brush over his cheek. “You sure?” you tease. “Because I seem to remember some panicked, middle-of-the-night doubts.”

Quinn huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, and I seem to remember talking you down from every single one.”

You grin, pressing your forehead to his. “I guess I should start listening to you more often, huh?”

He smirks. “You definitely should.”

A photographer calls your name softly, reminding you where you are, but neither of you move just yet.

You look at Quinn. He looks at you.

And then—

You kiss him. Soft, sure, just enough.

And when you pull back, he just grins, shaking his head like he still can’t believe you’re real.

Before you can say anything else, a stage manager ushers you onto a small carpet where reporters and interviewers lined up.

"How are you celebrating tonight?" the reporter asks, microphone extended toward you.

You barely hesitate. "Probably get In-N-Out with my boyfriend."

The press room bursts into laughter.

Quinn, just a few feet away, shakes his head but can’t hide his smile.

The smell of fresh burgers fills the car, the golden statue sitting between you in the backseat.

Quinn takes a sip of his drink, glancing over at you. "So, this is how an Oscar-winner celebrates?"

You tear open a packet of fries. "This is how I celebrate."

Before he can respond, your phone starts buzzing.

Jack.

You roll your eyes and answer, putting it on speaker.

Jack’s voice immediately fills the car. "HOLY SHIT."

Luke’s right behind him. "SHE ACTUALLY WON."

You laugh, reaching for your burger. "You guys stayed up to watch?"

"Duh," Jack says. "Quinn, dude, how the hell did you pull this off?"

Quinn groans. "Good to hear from you too, Jack."

Luke is still processing. "I mean, we always joke about you being the most unexpected couple ever, but like… you really went and did it."

Quinn just shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

And you?

You just squeeze his hand, because you wouldn’t want to be celebrating with anyone else.

You’re back home, fresh out of the shower, warm and sleepy as you crawl into bed next to Quinn.

The Oscar sits on the dresser.

Quinn rolls onto his side, watching you as you settle against the pillows. His hand drifts across your hip, his touch absentminded, lazy.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “You tired?”

He hums. “Not as tired as you.”

You yawn—completely proving his point.

Quinn laughs, tucking you closer, his warmth melting into yours.

“Night, Oscar-winner,” he murmurs against your hair.

You smile against his collarbone. "Night, Hughes."

#be4chywrites #nhl x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes

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zorosunwashedleftcheek · 4 months ago

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Switchin’ Up Positions

Summary: OP men and their fav positions 👅

feat: Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Kidd

cw: f!reader, NSFW, spitting, biting, bruises, idk what to tell you this is a freaky fic

a/n: ignore how I already posted Zoro’s section. it’s NOT my problem… and i edited it bc it was highkey cheeks. Also if this is rushed… i don’t care

Zoro: ✨Riding✨

As a swordsman, he is constantly aware of what and who his back is facing towards. It’s been engrained in him since he was a young child to never leave the area unguarded.

And as much as he trusts you, there’s nothing stopping an enemy from breaking down the door and stabbing him in the back while he’s balls deep in your cunt.

You’re the one who proposed the idea of riding… and he shot it down immediately. He saw it as relinquishing control and hated the idea with every once of his being.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it… when he’s on top of you, he’s never able to fully focus on you, his ears straining as they listen for enemies outside the door, waiting to attack him while he’s pounding your pretty wet pussy.

So after a few night of thinking, he begrudgingly made his way to your quarters and muttered something along the lines of, “I guess we can try it if you really want…”

And it’s been smooth sailing ever since. He still had complete control, one hand constantly gripping your hips to guide your pace. And he was able to pay attention to you fully and completely.

He found subtleties that he had never noticed before because he was too busy being paranoid. The way you would mewl just barely when his fingers curled and twisted in your cunt. The way your thighs would twitch when he pressed down on your tummy while also thrusting in.

Riding quickly became his go to.

He tastes of sake.

It’s as if he’s trying to consume you, his tongue jammed down your throat and his teeth clacking against yours. Zoro took everything he did to the extreme, and kissing was no exception. He may not be super experienced or skilled, but he was hungry, and that more than made up for it.

“C’mere…” Zoro wraps an arm around your waist and drags you down onto the bed, rolling you on top of him and running his hands up and down your bare legs. You’re wearing a skirt… far too small for his liking. And watching you dance and twirl with others all night pissed him off. …Sure, Zoro denied your numerous pleads to dance, but that didn’t mean that another man could fucking dip you, your head nearly touching the ground like that one guy had done.

Now the two of you are alone on the Thousand Sunny, the night still too young for the other Strawhats to retreat.

Zoro kicks off his pants and boxers in a swift motion, his cock sliding out to rest against his stomach, precum beading the tip. He looks up at you expectantly, a stupid smirk on his lips.

God, you hate that you know exactly what he wants.

Zoro grabs your skirt, bunching it up around your waist to watch as you hover above him, your fingers hooked around your panties to pull them aside. He licks his lips at the sight of your pretty pussy, a small string of arousal connecting your folds to the fabric of your underwear.

His hand slides to up and down your thigh, soothingly, before he brings his thumb down to your clit. Rolling his thumb with familiar practiced movements over your pearl, he watches with amused eyes as you suck in a harsh breath, your face flushing as you lick your lips.

“Put it in?” You huff softly, bracing your palms on Zoro’s bare abdomen and rocking your hips forward to rub against Zoro’s length. His mouth twitches and he curses softly under his breath.

Zoro scoffs in response, using his freehand to pop open your blouse. He trails his fingers down the expanse of your stomach before circling around to unclip your bra, freeing your breasts to his hungry gaze. “Why are you asking my permission. It’s yours. You put it in.”

Your nose wrinkles at his expression, he’s looking at you as though you’d asked the dumbest question he’s ever heard. You click your tongue, but lift yourself off of him. Grabbing his twitching cock, you give a few good pumps to spread his precum across his length before positioning his fat, pink tip against your leaking hole.

Zoro twists his hand in your hair and tugs you down for a kiss, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip. You’re dizzy just from his mouth, it’s astounding how you’re ever able to survive his dick.

You can hear Zoro hiss into your mouth as you slowly yet surely suck him inside of you. He’s snug, his tip scraping your walls with every small movement.

“Fuck… you’re good.” Zoro murmur quietly, breaking the kiss to watch your pussy eagerly gobble him up, your hips shimmying to accommodate his cock as it bullies its way into you.

“Zoro…” You groan softly, leaning back and bracing hand on his thigh, your back arching towards him, your tits laying tantalizingly close to his mouth.

“You want it? Yeah, I gotcha, just hold on.” Zoro plants his feet on the mattress, one large, calloused hand moving to grab your hip while the other paws at your breast, squeezing and rolling your areola between his thumb and forefinger. “Use those pretty thighs and help me out, how about it?”

Zoro starts out with a brutal pace, never one to ease into anything. He enjoys the feel of your nails biting into his thigh while the other rests on his navel. Your face is all screwed up, your nose wrinkled and your lips parted as he drills into you. You work to match his pace, but you don’t contribute much. It’s alright though, Zoro likes it that way. He loves having complete control, adjusting how fast you move and how deep you take it. His favorite thing to do is grab your hips and hold you up until just his tip is inside of you, and then watch as you squirm and roll your hips, desperate for the rest of his cock to fill you up.

Zoro leans forward, sucking your tit into his mouth and pressing searing kisses and bites down the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes meet his piercing grey gaze and he can feel your pussy flutter around him. God, everything got you wet, didn’t it?

Your brows furrow, a pout making its way onto your face as you pant, strangled whines and moans slipping past your lips.

“Shit… fucking…” Zoro closes his eyes and drops his head back against the pillows, he can’t even look at you without getting the urge to cum. Your pretty flustered face and those fluttering eyelashes always did him in.

He has to end this quick before he accidentally cums first.

Zoro wraps an arm around your back, tugging your chest down again his. He mouths at your shoulder, leaving shiny saliva in his wake as he adjusts his hips, allowing his cock to ram against your g-spot with each brutal thrust.

He continues to bite and suck along your neck and shoulder while his eyes focus on your thighs watching them twitch and shudder as your ass bounces up and down with each thrust.

“You… gonna cum?” Zoro chokes out as he feels you clamp down around him. It’s more of a statement than a question. He’s fucked you enough times to know your body better than he knows his own. Snaking a hand down to grope and massage your thigh, he drops his head back once again, willing his orgasm away for a few more moments.

Zoro’s not one to talk during sex. He’s way too concentrated on the sensations to try and string together sentences. But he knows that you absolutely adore the sound of his voice, the way it drops an octave when he’s aroused. And in emergency’s he knows that his voice can bring you to the edge with only a few sweet croons.

You give a small, weak nod, a whine tumbling out of your lips, “Fuck… yeah… ‘m gonna cum, Zoro. You’re gonna make me cum… please…”

His lips quirk at your needy voice, god, you’re so sweet to him. “The hell’s stopping you? I wanna feel you cream my cock. Come on… do it already. I’m getting bored.”

His words do unimaginable things to you, the low rasp alone can bring you straight to the edge. Within moments your gummy walls are clamping down around him as you roughly grind against his throbbing cock.

“Ah… shit, Z’ro… I can’t-“ You coo weakly, burrowing your face against Zoro’s neck as he continues to rock your hips, his navel bumping against your clit with each steady movement, causing your thighs to tremble as sharp hisses to escape your lips.

Zoro does his best to ease you through your orgasm, but eventually he has to hoist you off of his cock and set you down on his thighs so that he can pull out in time. Grabbing his blushing cock, he finally allows his orgasm to tear through his body. Zoro’s eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing as he shoots hot ropes of cum onto your stomach. He can feel the evidence of your orgasm dribbling out of your leaking pussy and pooling on his thighs.

“Fuck you’re so messy…” He drawls as a wrack of pleasure shoots down his spine.

The two of you lay in your mess, dozing in and out of sleep until you eventually grow uncomfortable, your mixed cum beginning to dry on both of yours’ body. Zoro doesn’t seem to mind in the least, his muscled arms wrapped tightly around your body, keeping you trapped as he snores softly.

“…Zoro.” You huff, tapping his cheek.

No response.

“Zoro.”

Nothing.

“Zoro!”

You smack his cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to catch his attention. His eyes shoot open, searching the dark room for the cause of your yelling. “Hell’s your problem, woman?” He scoffs, raising a hand to his face and wiping sleep from his eyes.

“I feel gross. Let’s shower.”

“I don’t need a shower, I’ll wipe myself off with a towel or something.”

“God, you’re gross.” Sitting up on Zoro’s chest, you glare down at him. “Come on, just keep me company at least.”

“How about you ask the guy you were dancing with to shower with you.” Zoro grumbles, turning his head to the side to avoid your annoyed gaze.

“You’re still mad about that? You’re so stupid. Dancing doesn’t always have to be romantic.”

Zoro scowls at your insult, “You’re the stupid one, that guy’s dick was practically waving in the wind and begging for a hug when you asked to dance with him.”

“Oh shut up. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll never dance with anyone else ever again.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. Zoro’s gaze lazily slides to where your tits are being pushed up and squished together and his scowl slowly melts into a smirk.

You glare at his expression, but there’s no real heat behind it, that hungry look in his eyes has returned, his nap seemingly replenishing his energy. Perhaps there was only one way to get him clean.

“Shower sex?”

“Deal.”

Sanji- Missionary

Let’s be lowkey, Sanji’s default vanilla

He does NOT pull bc he’s such a freak, and when he finally gets together with you, he’s definitely clueless. He’s gotten all of his knowledge of intimacy from romance books and poems for sure

He’ll go along with anything you want, but his go to will always be good old missionary

He likes to see your face, to know that he’s making you feel good, but most importantly, he wants you to look into his eyes and see the undying devotion he has to you

He’s SO talkative, literal yapaholic in bed

He likes being able to lean in and let your soft moans and whispers fill his ear as he rocks gently against you, soft praises tumbling past his lips as his arms hug you tight against him

He's constantly searching for reassurance and praise, he wants you to tell him that he’s doing great, that he’s making you feel good. And in return he’ll whisper the sweetest nothings in your ear as he eases you through your orgasm.

He absolutely adores the feeling of your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your face burrowed against his neck. He can cum just from feeling your bare legs lock around his waist, and it’s happened numerous times before.

Sanji would never admit it, because it’s a little perverted, and Sanji is definitely NOT perverted, never ever forever, but he also loves missionary because he can feel your breasts squished against his chest. He loves sliding a hand down and caressing and kissing the fat, never pinching or biting, as he wouldn’t want to bruise your pretty skin.

“Are you ready for me, love?” Sanji murmurs, his fingers continuing to pump in and out of your leaking pussy, your first orgasm of the night steadily dribbling over Sanji’s wrist.

You give a small nod, grabbing for your lover’s wrist and intertwining your fingers with his shiny, slick, ones. Sanji ducks his head down, kissing your knuckles and lapping up a mix of your cum and arousal. “Please, Sanji… need you.”

He could cum just from your words alone, but instead he gives a mute nod and leans back on his haunches. Sanji stares down at you with bated breath as he massages your thighs with deft fingers. “God… you’re beautiful. I’m gonna make you feel good… I promise… I promise…”

Grabbing your hip with one hand while the other guides his flushed cock to run along your slit. The cook’s breath trembles just slightly and he has to bow his head, his eyes squeezing shut tightly, “I could never get tired of you… you make me feel things that I’ve never felt before… I need you…”

“Sanji…”

Sanji knows that tone, you’re getting impatient. He gives an apologizing murmur, his face flushed in slight embarrassment as he finally rocks forwards, stopping once he’s half way in, his cock easing you open and stretching you perfectly. “You’re so perfect… I love you… I couldn’t live without your touch… You feel so good… so so good… please.”

You love Sanji with every bone in your body, but during sex, he could get a little preoccupied with praising your body that he nearly forgets he’s inside of you somehow. With a soft laugh, you cup his face with your hands and tug him down to your mouth, your tongue darting out to run along his bottom lip, “Shhh, Sanji. I know. Just feel me, yeah?”

Closing his eyes with a shudder, Sanji melts against your mouth, his chest pressing down against yours as he begins to rock his hips into you with slow, firm, thrusts. “…Sorry… y’ feel good…” He mumbles against your lips, his words muffled as he speaks into your mouth.

You go to respond, but instead, a soft moan is torn from your lips, eliciting a shiver to travel down Sanji’s spine. His mouth begins to wander, as it always does when he’s inside of you, and he trails soft, ghosts of kisses across your jaw and down your neck. “I love you… you complete me… y’ make me… ngh… so, so happy-“

Sanji is never one to be aggressive during sex, he’d obviously comply if you asked him to, but he prefers soft, firm movements as he rocks against your pretty, puffy pussy. He wants to make love to you, make you feel beautiful and wanted.

“Sanji… you feel so good… faster?” You murmur softly, your back arching against his so perfectly as you gasp and coo against his ear.

Sanji very nearly whimpers at your soft question, your voice just too pretty, too sweet, to be asking anything of him. You were an angel, perfection incarnate, and Sanji would be a fool to deny you anything.

“Of course… legs around my waist, love, wanna feel you hold onto me.” Sanji purrs, licking the shell of your ear, eliciting a delectable squeak from your lips. Your ankles easily hook around the curve of Sanji’s spine, your thighs squishing against his hips and causing a weak groan to sound from Sanji’s throat.

You can feel Sanji’s stomach tensing as he moves, sliding his cock out to the tip before snapping his hips forward, making your eyes roll and your back to arch as if offering yourself to the heavens.

The bed creaks beneath your body as your toes curl, your hips rolling to meet Sanji’s movements. “Good?” Sanji murmurs, his stubble tickling and scratching your collarbone as he slides his lips across your shoulder.

“…yeah. It’s good-“ You gasp, twisting beneath Sanji’s hands. Sweat dots at your forehead and you can feel your orgasm approaching, glancing at Sanji, you know he’s not far behind.

Sanji grimaces, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before they quickly dance away to watch himself piston in and out of your wet pussy, he listens to the squelches of your body as it practically begs for him. Sanji shudders at the sound, his shoulders bunching up as he listens to your body.

Everything about you is perfect in Sanji’s eyes. You could gut him like a fish and he would thank you before preparing himself into a dish for you to eat. You hold Sanji’s heart in your hands and he trusts you completely, knowing that you’d never break it.

“Damn it, angel.” Sanji hisses, running his hand down through his hair before catching your lips in a passionate kiss. “Please cum. Please, please. I wanna see you cum, angel. Wanna feel it- feel you.”

God, you can’t believe what Sanji’s words do to you. You bury your face again his neck as your hips buck up against him, searching for your release, “Come on…” You mumble impatiently, your face twisted; your nose scrunched and your brows furrowed.

Sanji leans forward, pressing feather-soft kisses to your furrowed brow and scrunched nose. His hand slides down your navel and lower, rubbing firm circles against your clit. His other arm wraps around your neck, tucking you firmly against his chest as his fingers splay across the back of your head. Sanji’s pace begins to stutter, shuddering breaths escaping his lips.

You writhe so sweetly against him, your heels digging into the small of his back. He watches with rapt attention as your orgasm washes through you, reveling in the feel of your nails digging into his shoulders. Sanji feels as though he’s staring at an angel as your lips part, your lashes fluttering and your throat bobbing.

Sanji very nearly cums inside of you, too enraptured with the sounds and sensations he’s caused you to make. You’re mid orgasm when Sanji suddenly pulls out, his eyes widening and his breath catching in his throat in a panic as he coats your stomach with sticky cum.

Normally Sanji would never cum on you. As much as he absolutely adored the sight, something about it made him feel strange, as if he were defiling a priceless artifact. Usually, he would use a condom, or jerk himself off into his hand… or your panties on special occasions- your hand on really special occasions.

“Shit- sorry, sorry, angel.” Sanji groans, his face going beet red. He pulls back to sit on his haunches as he gnaws on his bottom lip. His eyes are glued to the sight of you covered not only in your own cum, but his as well. It makes his heart pound faster.

You hold a finger up, needing a moment to catch your breath, your thighs twitching from the pleasure. Finally you open your eyes and look up at him with a sweet smile. Catching his embarrassed face, you quickly think of ways to reassure him.

Your lip quirks as an idea comes to mind.

Sliding your index and middle finger across your navel, gathering up Sanji’s mess, your fingers swirling as if painting a canvas. Sanji watches with rapt attention, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back as you bring your fingers to your lips and slowly lick up his cum.

You let out loud exaggerated coos as you suck on your fingers, your gaze focused on your sweet lover. His eyebrow twitches, and he sniffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“You taste as good as your food, baby.” You hum, your fingers pulling away with a pop.

Ace: Against The Wall

Ace is a straight up show off

He loves to throw his weight around, and casually display his strength as if it were normal

Another thing about Ace is that he’s impatient. He wants what he wants and he’ll take it as soon as possible

That doesn’t change during sex. Ace loves picking you up and throwing you around, his hands exploring your body as he shoves you against a wall. At first it’s simply because he was too lazy and impatient to make his way to a bed, he’d simply drag you into a spare closet or pin you against a door

But he soon realized that he preferred a good old wall instead of a bed. He likes the way you giggle when he hoists you up, your thighs wrapping around his waist (or in some cases his face), he loves the way you cling to him after you cum, too weak to hold yourself up and relying on Ace to keep you from falling

Sometimes Ace likes to pretend his legs give out, he likes the adorable look of panic on your face before Ace quickly snaps his hips up, adjusting your weight and burying himself deeper inside of your walls, gravity helping to sheath himself deeper inside of you

You stopped letting Ace eat you out against the wall after a situation during a storm. A violent wave sent the ship rocking and Ace had gone careening backwards, falling straight on his back… with you still on top of him. It was a horrible experience as the two of you had made your way to the infirmary, Ace happily holding his two missing teeth in his hands as you waddled, a wound on the inside of your thigh that suspiciously looked like a bite mark.

You haven’t seen Ace in weeks. He’s been on some excursion, fighting some bigshot or another. He hasn’t left your mind in the time he’s been gone. You thought of him while cooking, while fighting, damn it all, you even thought of him while cleaning the toilets. Ace is your other half, and it’s like you can physically feel it when he’s apart. When you can’t hear his laugh or feel his touch. It hurts.

But that doesn’t matter anymore because Ace is back.

The ship has been a flurry of activity the whole morning, preparing his welcome back feast. Technically, Ace had arrived back home yesterday in the middle of the night but he’d spent most of his time in the infirmary before passing out from exhaustion. Marco’s the only one who’s seen him. Ace hadn’t bothered to say hi to anyone, too tired to think of anything but sleep.

But now was the time to celebrate the return of the Fire Fist.

You’re rummaging through yet another closet, Marco having asked you to search for tablecloths. But for some reason you can’t seem to find them anywhere.

If you’re being honest, you’d prefer if there wasn’t any sort of party, you’d much rather have a quiet day with Ace, just him and you. But you suppose that’s selfish, the rest of the crew want to see the safe return of their crew mate just as much as you do.

Just as you’re about to give up on what you think is the fifth closet, your eyes catch on a hint of fabric poking out from the bottom shelf.

With an annoyed gruff, you brace your hands on the wall and hoist yourself up, standing on the bottom ledge and praying it doesn’t snap under your weight as you stretch your arm out, your fingers just barely brushing against the cloth.

Just as you manage to hook your finger in a fold, you hear the familiar squeak of the closet swinging shut. A curse escapes your lips as you twist around in an attempt to reach for the door, but in the process, your foot slips and you go tumbling towards the floor.

You yelp, bracing yourself for the pain that’s sure to follow, but it never comes. Instead you feel a pair of arms wrap wrapping around your chest, tugging you backwards away from the shelf. Hold on… those arms… they feel a bit too familiar.

“Clumsy girl.” Ace muses with a chuckle, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek and tightening his hold around you, “Y’miss me?”

Spinning around, a grin already on your face, you meet the familiar eyes of one Portgas D. Ace. His silhouette just barely visible in the dim light of the closet. Adrenaline still pounds at your chest, but it’s mixed with excitement as you wrap your arms around Ace’s neck. “You scared me.” You scoff, a playful pout on your lips as you tug him down for a light kiss.

You’re expecting some banter in return, but instead; Ace lets out a groan as if he hadn’t drunken water in weeks and you are the sweetest of nectar. Suddenly his hands are slipping up your shirt to press against your abdomen, walking you backwards against the shelf as his mouth practically devours yours.

“Jump.” Ace pants softly, hooking his hands beneath your thighs.

Ace is thrusting into you with reckless abandon, the shelves creaking and groaning with your weight as the ledges dig into your back. Mouthing at your throat, Ace coos quietly, “Missed you so, so much, pretty girl. Yeah? You miss me too? You’re sucking me in right now.”

His hands devour your body, his fingertips warm to the touch as he pushes your shirt up around your neck. Ace pulls back for a moment to watch your tits bounce with thrust. His freckles glow faintly as he licks his lips.

Your quiet coos and moans surround Ace, your eyes kept focused on the door as if physically willing any crewmates from walking in on the two of you. You distantly pray that they can’t hear the sound of Ace’s skin slapping against yours.

But Ace is decidedly not trying to be quiet.

If anything, he’s louder than normal. A stupid grin on his face as he lets out low groans and cries of passion as if he’s in some cheap porno. You scowl at him, your stomach flipping as Ace brushes against your g spot. “Quiet!” You hiss, your scowl broken by a sweet gasp as Ace drives his hips up while tugging yours down.

Ace grins madly, throwing his head back and letting out a long, loud moan. “God… I missed you so much…” He cries out, grabbing the shelves and shaking them, objects wobbling and clattering together, “I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without your pretty body… your pretty little pus-“

You grab the back of his neck, a scowl on your face as you tug him into a deep kiss. Ace chuckles against your mouth, your lips finally managing to shut him up for once. You grab his hand, prying his fingers off of the shelf and guiding his palm to cover your breast.

“…missed you.” Ace finally murmurs against your lips, his voice much softer as he rolls your nipple between his fingers, his hand massaging the underside of your tit.

“Shit- Ace… missed y-“ You’re barely able to get your words out before Ace is slapping a palm over your mouth, pausing in his movements and bracing his knee against the shelf to hold you up as he reaches behind him to grab the doorknob. Your brows furrow in confusion, you hadn’t heard anything, but a few moments later you hear the sound of a pair of footsteps making their way down the hall.

Ace grins wildly, holding a finger to his lips. You know that mischievous look on his face. Shaking your head, you glare at Ace, already knowing what he’s planning. He quirks his head, pouting his lip in a false questioning look.

There are voices outside the door, some dumbasses chose this particular hallway to have some stupid conversation while you’re getting fucked balls deep only feet away.

Adjusting his stance, Ace grab your hips and begins to move once again, careful not to let his skin slap against yours. Biting his lip, Ace grins at your annoyance, using his freehand to massage your thigh while the other keeps its hold on the door.

You can feel him pulsing inside of yours, his tip ramming against your g spot with each thrust. It feels good. Too good.

Bringing your hand to your mouth, you bite down, your breath shuddering. Ace guides your head down against his shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses to your ear.

“Come on… good job being quiet, baby.” Ace whispers softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. His words are sweet and smooth, each thrust sending your heart beating out of its cage. “Gonna cum when there’s people right outside? I swear you’ve been gripping me even tighter since they showed up.”

Your hand moves away from your mouth to grip at Ace’s shoulder, your face is pressed firmly to his neck as your thighs begin to tremble from the strain of keeping quiet.

“Ace…” You groan, your words muffled as you grind your hips down against Ace, your clit bumping against his navel with each buck of your hips.

“You know I love your voice, but you gotta keep quiet.” Ace murmurs, “Can you be quiet, or do I gotta stop?”

With a firm shake of your head, your thighs tighten around Ace’s waist. You’re so close, you think you might actually start crying.

It feels like an eternity as you wait for whoever’s outside to leave, Ace continuing his steady thrusts into your wet pussy. He whispers quietly to you, his lips brushing against your ear as his filthy words flood your brain.

But finally, the sound of voices fades and you nearly sob in relief. “Faster.” You snap impatiently, too frustrated to try and be cute.

Throwing his head back, Ace lets out a laugh, “Yeah… yeah I can do that.”

Your brain positively melts as Ace bucks his hips into you with reckless abandon, each roll of his body causing his cock to drive straight against your g spot.

Shuddering moans and cries fill the closet as you writhe in Ace’s arms, squirming as you chase after your orgasm.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl? Yeah… me too.” Ace pants, “So you better make it quick before I accidentally cum inside.”

You click your tongue at his teasing but you can’t deny the excitement at the thought of Ace cumming inside of you. Fucking his seed up into your cunt and putting a pretty baby in your stomach. You know that Ace has… difficulties with the idea of fathers, but you can’t help but think he would be a great one.

Before you know it, you’re thrown into an orgasm, your back arching as you throw your head back. Ace just barely manages to cup the back of your head in time, stopping you from bashing yourself against the shelves and probably giving yourself a concussion.

Your thighs tense and your whimper, pawing at Ace’s chest as you slam your hips down against Ace, chasing after your orgasm.

Ace curses, turning his head to the side at the sight of your pretty face. Your cheeks are puffed out adorably, your lips pursed and your brow furrowed in concentration. Glancing down, his eyes catch on the small flame that had burst on his foot. Ace flushes in embarrassment, stomping it out.

Ace hauls you off of him, holding you up against the wall as he pulls out, your pussy tries to cling to his cock, and it practically breaks Ace’s heart. With a grunt, he cums over his hand, careful not to get any of his mess on your clothes.

“I want…” Ace pants, stooping down to grab his boxers and wipe off his sticky palm, “I want you to go to the bedroom… I’ll meet you in about fifteen minutes, ‘kay?”

He lowers you to the floor, pinching your shaking thighs playfully, “You’ll make it there alright?” He teases, wiping up any evidence of orgasm with his underwear before tugging your pants back on. Ace goes about fixing your clothes, buttoning your shirt, zipping your pants and fixing your mussed hair.

Once he thinks you look presentable enough, he quickly tugs his own pants back on, throwing his boxers to a corner and silently promising to grab them later (he won’t).

Pressing a kiss to your cheek, Ace opens the door and shoves you out with a smack on the ass, “See you soon, sweetheart,” He coos, walking in the opposite direction. He sends you a stupid wink before turning the corner.

Kidd: BACKSHOTS!!!!

BACKSHOTSBACKSHOTSBACKSHOTS FACE DOWN, ASS UP, THATS THE WAY WE LIKE TO FUCK!!!

Guys I may or may not love backshots as much as I love Kidd

Kidd loves every position as long as he’s able to see your body jiggle and move. He especially loves hitting it from the back in any way; doggy, prone bone, face buried in the pillows and your hips wiggling around, throwing your ass back against him like the needy thing you are

He’ll bend you over anything, a desk, a bed, the railing. Hell, if you’re flexible enough, he’ll make you bend down and touch your toes while he plows your shit

One of his favorite things to do is make you grab your ass and present your pussy to him, showing off the way you drip and leak for his fat cock

Kidd uses any jewelry you have to his advantages. Bracelets? He’s forcing your hands above your head while you practically suffocate in his pillows. Anklets? He’s tugging your legs apart until you’re nearly doing the splits as he bullies his dick into your tiny cunt. But his absolute favorite piece of jewelry that you wear are waist beads.

Even if you’re completely and utterly exhausted, too tired to move or even cry anymore. He’ll take control of your waist beads and force you to keep throwing your ass back against him, the fat jiggling and practically begging for him to slap and fondle

Let’s be honest, Kidd’s fucking feral. He licks and bites his way down your spine, leaving a path of red kisses in its path. By the time he’s done with you, you’re absolutely covered in Kidd’s lipstick. Red pigment smeared down your spine and across your face.

~ Metal clatters against the ground as your body is roughly shoved down against the cool metal of Kidd’s work table. Your bikini top has been haphazardly tugged up around your neck, the strings all tangled, showing off your pretty tan lines. Your skin tingles from the temperature as you lift your head to look behind you. Kidd grins wolfishly at your lustful gaze as he toys with the strings of your bikini bottoms.

Kidd isn’t quite sure what’s come over him, he’s seen you in a bikini hundreds of times before. Damn it, he’s seen you naked even more. But the sight of you lounging on the deck of his ship, your skin shiny from tanning had made his heart jump to his throat. You had been sleeping on your stomach, the slope of your spine and the curve of your ass on full display for the crew to see.

He had been working in his workshop when he had caught a glance of you through the window, your tits squished against the floor and your lips pouted slightly in sleep. Kidd hadn’t even realized what he was doing before he was activating his devil fruit powers, latching onto the silver bracelet he’d bought for you last month and tugging. You awoke to your hand being dragged by a seemingly invisible string. You were bleary from sleep but you already knew what was going on.

Your captain was waiting for you.

And that’s how you’d been practically dragged to the workshop, your feet stumbling over steps and nearly sending you crashing into the railing. The crew snickered and whistled at the sight of your hand being dragged by an unseen force. They knew exactly what Kidd wanted.

You’re barely able to get the door to the workshop open before Kidd is grabbing the back of your neck and tugging you into a bruising kiss. His hips rutting against your thigh as he drags you towards his desk, haphazardly sweeping his hand and sending his little ‘projects’ (deadly weapons) flying. Sliding a hand to your shoulder, he slams you down against the table, hoisting your hips up onto the surface so that your toes just barely graze the ground.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go out there and fuck you in front of the whole crew.” Kidd snarls, his hand groping your ass, his touch rough enough to make you flinch as he swats your thigh. Your hips jolt, your body jerking against the table as a sharp keen escapes your lips. “Maybe I should make an announcement, huh? Call everyone in here and make ‘em watch you cream my cock like the slut you are. How’s that sound?”

He chuckles, reaching down to poke and prod your hole through the bikini bottom, pinching your clit and rolling the nub between his fingers, watching the fabric grow damp with your arousal as your feet twitch. You twist around to look at him, your thighs clenching at the sight of your lover; he’s practically drooling at the sight of you laid out across the table. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he kicks your legs apart, stepping forward and rutting himself against your clothed pussy, earning a gasp from your lips.

“What’s got you all worked up?” You tease, rolling your ass back against Kidd’s raging hard on. Even through his clothing, you can feel that one prominent vein on his cock that never fails to drag you into orgasm. Arching your back, you wiggle your hips in the way that makes Kidd’s eyes roll back as he attempt to hold himself back from fucking you hard and deep right now.

Kidd snarls, his eyes locked onto your ass as if entranced. In one swift movement, he tugs the string of your bikini, the fabric falling to the side to give your captain a wonderful view of your messy cunt and puckered asshole. “Tch. Show me.”

This was Kidd being nice, giving you a few moments to prepare yourself, because there are many things that your captain is, but patient is definitely not one of them. When Kidd had first asked you to expose your weeping hole to him, you had been an embarrassed, blubbering mess. Arguing and telling him that it was weird.

But that was then, and now it was like second nature as you ease a knee onto the table and reach your hand behind you, sliding your pointer and middle finger between your dripping folds and sliding them apart to reveal your pulsing hole to Kidd, arousal steadily dribbling out of your cunt and over your skin. Sliding your digits inside, Kidd watches with rapt attention as you scissor your fingers, preparing your tight pussy for Kidd’s above average cock. More slick drips down your wrist as your ass shakes, your knee jerking and your head dropping down against the table.

With a growl, Kidd unbuttons his pants and you can hear his fat cock slap against his abdomen as he watches your fingers eagerly “Whaddya need, baby?” He croons, his voice sickening sweet as he wraps a hand around your hair and tugs your head back up. Hoisting your back against his chest, Kidd licks up into your mouth, biting your lip and stealing the breath from your lungs. His other hand travels up your navel, across your stomach before grasping the fat of your breast, tugging and twisting. It’s painful, his fingers pinching and flicking your areola as if it were a toy, making you squeak and squirm against him. Yet your hand continues to work at your pussy, it’s better for both of you if your cunt is plenty stretched by the time Kidd enters you. Once Kidd loses his patience, there’s not much that you can do to stop his from entering you.

You try to respond, your chest fluttering as you try and fail to catch your breath. Kidd’s mouth chasing yours every time you try and pull away. “Mph- Kidd… can’t-“

It’s not until you fear that you might actually pass out, black spots dancing in your vision, that Kidd finally pulls away. Lipstick and saliva smeared across his lower face, and most likely yours as well. “I said, whaddya need?”

You pant, tears dotting your lashes as Kidd finally releases his bruising hold on your tit, his hand sliding to your shoulder and shoving you back down against the table. “Fuck… fuck me, Kidd… shit.”

Kidd catches your wrist, stopping your hand from continuing its ministrations against your pussy, before slamming it down by your face, your eyes linger on the sight of your shiny fingers, strings of arousal coating your skin. Without a moments hesitation, Kidd aligns his twitching length with your entrance and bottoms out inside of you. One moment he’s outside of you, and the next he’s balls deep, his tip very nearly kissing your cervix.

A mix between a relieved groan and a chuckle fills your ears as you let out a ragged cry of pleasure, a sharp jolt of pain coursing up your spine before it melts away into a blissful throb. Your back arches and your hips jerk back against Kidd as he massages your ass, his attempt at comfort. Slowly dragging his cock back, the ridges of his vein catches on your ring of muscle and you shudder, a soft coo sounding from your mouth. Kidd pulls back until his tip is just barely lingering inside of you, his gaze focused on the sight of your pussy all stretched out around him, your arousal coating his cock and dripping down his balls.

You shimmy your hips enticingly, whining with need and impatience as you look at him from over your shoulder, “Come on. Hurry up.” You huff, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and pouted lips.

Scowling at your order, Kidd scoffs and rolls his eyes, but the sight of your pretty face makes his heart jump, he secretly loves it when you’re bossy, “Yeah, yeah. You always say that shit and then cry and beg me to slow down a few minutes later. You’re annoying you know that?”

You open your mouth to shoot back an equally sharp retort, but all that comes out is a choked cry as Kidd’s hands move to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as he hauls your ass back against him, beginning his punishing pace.

Your core aches with each brutal thrust. It’s painful, the pleasure coursing through your body just enough to make it worth it. Or maybe the pain is what making it feel so good? You’re not quite sure that it even matters.

“Fuck, you love it when I treat you like this. You probably couldn’t even cum if I’m not at least a li’l mean, huh?” Kidd teases, his teeth baring as he ducks his head down. Starting at the small of your back, his mouth attaches to your skin, sucking and biting and licking his way up the curve of your spine, leaving a mess of saliva, bruises and lipstick stains in his wake. You taste of sun tan lotion, coconut oil, and sweat. It’s making Kidd’s knees buckle with how good you feel on his tongue.

“You talk… way too much…” You bite out, dropping your head in your arms as your eyes squeeze shut, your head buzzing with pleasure.

“Good thing my teeth are as sharp as my tongue.” Kidd snarls, biting down on your shoulder. His canines dig into your skin as he feasts on your pretty figure. As if to punctuate his point, Kidd thrusts into you, purposefully pressing his tip to your cervix and making you keen in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Stars dance in your vision as you very nearly wail, your body writhing on the table in your attempt to wiggle away. It’s in vain as Kidd grabs your hips and drags you back. “See? I ain’t all talk.”

Kidd snakes a hand around your front, his fingers digging into your abdomen as if searching, “I can feel myself right… here.” Kidd sounds triumphant as he massages the slight bulge. He groans as he presses down, your gummy walls closing in around him as he resumes his thrusts. “Maybe I should put a baby up there one day, how’s that sound, babe?”

You bite your lip, unable to respond anymore for fear that you might let out a sob. Tears dot your lash line, your face splotchy and your breath shuddering. Each rock of Kidd’s hips send electricity up your spine. “I-“

Kidd cocks his head, leaning forward to peer at your face. He grins rakishly, wrestling you into a chokehold and brushing your hair past your ear. He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Are you gonna cry? Go ahead, you know I don’t mind.” Kidd grunts, snapping his hips. He’s close, both of you can tell, he’s struggling to keep his rhythm, his hips stuttering every few moments.

“‘m not… gonna cry.” You choke out, the metal beneath the two of you has grown slick with sweat and condensation. Each time Kidd thrusts his cock into you, there’s a squeak as your skin rubs against the table. You can’t help but giggle at the stupid sound, your cheek pressed against Kidd’s bicep as your eyes roll back.

“God, you’re so sweaty. What’s your problem?” Kidd gruffs, but you can hear the hint of endearment in his voice. “Just cum already, yeah?”

You turn your head, your tongue lolling out in search for Kidd’s mouth. Grinning at your fucked out expression, Kidd eagerly accepts your tongue into his mouth.

You bite down on Kidd’s lip as your orgasm washes over you like a wave. Your entire body jerking and twitching as your hips chase after Kidd’s cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper.

Kidd watches with bated breath as tears slip down your cheeks, your cries and moans quickly swallowed by his eager mouth. He continues to thrust impatiently into your creamy pussy, dragging you through your orgasm while chasing after his own.

Your cum creates a foamy ring around the base of Kidd’s cock. His face burning, Kidd allows you to kiss him one final time before he pulls back, blood coating his bottom lip from how hard your teeth had dug in.

You feel empty as Kidd finally drags his dick out of your cunt, your hole pulsing with his absence. Kidd grunts in annoyance as he jerks himself off, his bicep flexing around your throat as his own orgasm washes through him, his cum painting your back.

“I’m gonna cum in your pretty pussy one day, and it’s gonna be the best day of our fucking lives, I promise.” Kidd grunts, releasing his hold on you and running a hand through his hair. He steps back from between your legs, admiring the view of your body on display for him to see.

The lipstick marks on your back are partially covered by his cum, oil and sweat still lingering on your skin as bruises form on your ass. Your thighs tremble, your fluids coating your folds and dripping down onto the table.

You wake up in Kidd’s arms, your body aching as you lounge across his lap, your nose nestled against his neck. He’s toying absentmindedly, one hand tinkering with a small trinket (bomb), while the other massages your thigh.

Your body feels as though it’s been through the wringer, your thighs aching and your core throbbing. There are bruises on your hips from the table repeatedly digging into your skin.

“Hi.” Kidd grunts, barely soaring you a glance.

“…Hi.” You croak, clearing your throat as you sit up to peer at Kidd’s little invention. You smooth a hand through your hair, groaning as your hands run down your face.

“I told you you’d cry.”

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girlinterupptedsblog · 4 months ago

Text

Self control

Summary: rafe is bored and he wants to test eachoters self control by cockwarming you to see who can go longest without moving

Warnings: NSFW, cockwarming, sexual tension, teasing, dominance/submission themes, power play, heavy temptation, loss of control, season two Rafe energy, mutual torment.

----

The weekend had started off exciting, but by the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, boredom settled in like an unwanted guest. You and Rafe had spent the past few days holed up in his house, doing a whole lot of nothing—lounging, eating, watching random TV shows that neither of you really cared about. The rain outside made sure you were stuck inside with no distractions, no plans.

You were sprawled across the couch, scrolling through your phone, while Rafe lay beside you, lazily running a hand up and down your thigh. His touch was absentminded at first, but then it turned deliberate. Slow, teasing strokes that made you glance at him, catching the way his blue eyes darkened with something dangerous.

"Got an idea," he murmured, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shorts.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He smirked. "Mhm. Something to make things… interesting."

You could already tell by the way he was looking at you that whatever he was thinking had nothing to do with movies or playing cards. Rafe never handled boredom well. When he wanted something, he went after it with a single-minded determination, and right now, you had a feeling that you were his next source of entertainment.

When he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice dropped to a low rasp. "How much self-control do you think you have?"

You frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

His hand on your thigh tightened. "I mean…" He kissed just below your ear, dragging his lips along your jaw before pulling back to look you in the eye. "Think you can handle sitting on my cock without moving?"

The bluntness of it sent a jolt of heat straight through you, making you tense.

"Rafe," you muttered, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to say anything else.

He grinned, knowing damn well he already had you. "What? Scared you'll lose?"

That did it. You never liked backing down from a challenge, and Rafe knew it. Which was exactly why he said it.

"Fine," you said before you could second-guess yourself.

And that was how you ended up here—straddling him on the bed, completely bare, his cock buried deep inside you. The stretch was almost too much, your body clenched tight around him, but neither of you had moved.

You were supposed to be winning this, supposed to be showing him that you had all the restraint in the world. But the way he was looking at you—eyes dark, jaw clenched, his hands gripping your hips just to keep himself from fucking up into you—made it so hard to focus on anything but how badly you wanted to move.

Minutes passed. Maybe more.

You swallowed, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your spine.

Rafe smirked. "Starting to squirm, baby."

You narrowed your eyes, forcing yourself still. "Not even close."

"Liar." His hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, making goosebumps rise on your skin. He traced your waist, up to your ribs, his thumbs brushing just under your breasts. "I can feel how bad you want it."

You sucked in a breath, digging your nails into his shoulders.

His voice dropped lower. "Be honest. How bad do you wanna move right now?"

"Not at all," you lied, even though your body was screaming otherwise.

Rafe chuckled darkly. His grip on your hips tightened before he shifted the slightest bit underneath you, just enough for you to feel it.

Your breath hitched.

"Oops," he said, all fake innocence.

You clenched around him instinctively, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, his fingers twitching against your skin.

The tension between you crackled like fire.

It was only a matter of time before one of you gave in.

Every passing second made it harder to breathe. Harder to think.

The ache between your legs was unbearable. Rafe filled you up completely, stretching you in a way that left you dizzy, and the worst part was that you couldn't do anything about it.

Your thighs burned from holding still. Your hands clenched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin just to ground yourself. But the worst part? You could feel him. Every twitch, every subtle pulse of his cock inside you, making the heat between you even more unbearable.

Rafe wasn’t doing much better. His jaw was locked, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was moments away from snapping.

Still, you refused to give in first.

But God, it was so hard.

Your body was betraying you, your hips twitching the slightest bit no matter how hard you tried to stay still. The more you resisted, the more desperate you became. You could feel yourself soaking him, your arousal pooling between you, making it impossible to ignore just how much you needed him to move.

A whimper slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Rafe let out a low groan, his hands tightening on your waist. "Fuck," he muttered, head falling back against the pillows.

You clenched around him at the sound, another soft, helpless noise escaping your throat.

His grip on you turned bruising. "You're making this real fuckin’ hard, baby," he rasped. His voice was deeper now, rough with restraint. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath you. "You're so wet—fuck."

You could barely form a sentence. "Rafe—"

Another needy sound tore from you as he twitched inside you again.

His hands flexed, and then his control snapped.

With a growl, he grabbed your hips and thrust up into you.

The sudden movement made you gasp, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine as your hands flew to his chest.

"Fuck, baby—"

He didn’t stop. His fingers dug into your skin as he fucked up into you, the slow, torturous game you’d been playing thrown out the window. He was done holding back.

"You wanted to play, huh?" His voice was breathless, low, dangerous. "Now you wanna get all fuckin’ whiny, like you're not the one who started this?"

Your head was spinning. All you could do was feel—feel the way he filled you, the way he hit deep, every movement sending sparks through your body.

He grabbed your jaw, forcing your gaze down to meet his. His eyes were dark, wild, hungry. "Look at me when you come," he ordered, thrusting up into you harder. "I want you to watch who won this fuckin’ game."

And just like that, you shattered.

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dwaekkicidal · 5 months ago

Text

Nonsexual Dominance with SKZ

wc» 1.1k

cw» gender neutral, d/s dynamics, dom!skz & sub!reader, trad!minho, sfw but some people might see some things as controlling or toxic- it's not meant to be and this is based off a MUTUAL agreement + set boundaries. if you dont like dont interact <3

txt version

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗

Makes you send him food pics regularly. On days where you genuinely don't want to, he won't push it, but for the most part he enforces it and will be upset if you don't send a pic. And this is only really because it means you didn't eat.

He loves it not only for the obvious reason of watching over you even when he's not around, but also because it reminds him to also eat. All those hours in the studio blur and it's only a matter of time before he completely loses track of time- but you and your meals are there to remind him :)

𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠

Ok hear me out, traditional husband!minho... If you don't want it, he won't push it but it works so well,,, If it's far enough into the relationship that the trust comes naturally, he'd sit you down to discuss your opinions on you staying at home all day and quitting your job and putting all the financial burden on him- because he wants that responsibility. He wants to take care of you so extremely.

The pleasure dom in him comes out specifically outside of the bedroom. He absolutely loves cooking for you and spoiling you with extravagant dinners & expensive gifts, and he loves just holding you close just because he can, but he expects you to do everything else in the house- or at least most of it. While he's willing to compromise certain chores, he wants to come home to the house being clean and clothes being washed and all that.

But he always makes it worth your while and spoils you rotten :( Cuddles you until you're absolutely sick of him (not) and tries to take you out on regular dates to spoil you (like while shopping at the mall or taking you out to a nice dinner)

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚋𝚒𝚗

Might sound kind of weird but hear me out- him telling you "no." I think Chris is one that would love to do this but has NO self control and therefore can't bring himself to unless he absolutely has to lol. But Changbin thrives off of it.

Don't get him wrong- he looves to spoil you. But he also loves that little spark in your eyes when you bat your eyelashes at him so prettily and ask him for something- only for you to get a gentle but firm "no" that makes your bottom lip puff out. & It's not that he doesn't want you to have whatever this thing is, it's more so that he knows there's a limit to being spoiled and no matter how much he loves you, you both need an occasional humbling- and he feels like you both could use a soft reminder of who let who have all the control

He'll always make up for it with sweet kisses and maybe a little tickling to make your pout go away, but his chest puffs out a little every time he gets to tell you "no"

𝙷𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚓𝚒𝚗

Is the kind to having his hand on your body at all times, if you're more than an arms length away from him you'll be getting a certain look that discreetly reads "Get over here now." Sometimes will even curl his finger up in your direction- doesn't care if somebody is watching or even if he's in the middle of talking/an important conversation

He just likes to have you close, and he knows he needs that mental grounding that you offer more often than not. He's just confident about needing it, so he's not afraid to show everybody how much he loves you and needs you by his side

That being said, he will lead you around malls, museums, grocery stores, or hell even the other boy's apartments all with his hand either intertwined with yours or on some part of your body (usually your lower back) that lets him guide you around.

𝙷𝚊𝚗

He felt a little awkward at first bringing this up to you, but now that it's become a regular part of your routine, he lives for these moments: he loves when you sit pretty on his lap and shave his face for him. It's gotten to the point where he will refuse to shave himself at all for weeks on end if you aren't able to do it for him.

It makes him feel a bit more dominant than it should? considering he will see you have free time and point out that he needs a shave- which usually has you dropping everything to go do it for him. But he also sees it as him being loyal to you and you having an equal amount of "control" on his life. (Also you will catch him dead before you catch him complaining about his lover sitting in his lap for any amount of time lol)

Generally just domestic little acts of service that let him "command" you while also letting you have control over his life (that's really only obvious to you two, but that's more than enough for him)

𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡

Doesn't realize he likes it right away, but he loves to talk for you with strangers. He loves to order your food for you, order your coffee for you (sometimes even mobile ordering it so you don't have to talk to people if he's not available), carrying your clothes for you while you shop and being the one talking at the cash register- stuff like that.

Not only does this scratch that little dom itch in the back of his head because he's taking care of you while still being in "charge", but it also allows him to spoil the hell out of you with you knowing how much money he's spending on you lol. You get to sit pretty at his side and look at/play with the little trinkets by the register while he drops literal hundreds on you with a smile on his face.

𝚂𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚖𝚒𝚗

Sorry not sorry but he loves his non sexual punishments. No matter what you do in or out of the bedroom, he can and will find a way to punish you for it without having to lay a finger on you.

One of his favorites is making you write a sentence down over and over again. Kinda cliché "teacher" punishment but it usually gets his point across and prevents you from acting out (for like a week max lol). If he's particularly annoyed at you/frustrated he will make you write it in Korean & wont translate it for you more than once lol.

Another one he really likes is making you kneel on the floor instead of on the couch. He's not really huge on forbidding you from watching tv unless you want him to go that far, but you're not gonna be allowed to sit on the soft, comfy couch- you're gonna be kneeling on the floor, most likely by his leg so you can still cuddle up to him (he'll grant you a small pillow if it's a longer punishment)

𝙸.𝙽

Jeongin loves picking your outfits and your accessories for you. He's not usually too dominant out of the bedroom otherwise, and it's very rare that he is, but this is the main way he is.

Even before you two lived together, he would text you a grossly sweet good morning message and would include a comment about how you should send him a few outfits for him to choose from you to wear. But now that you guys are living together, he takes it upon himself to pick out an outfit for you while you're still in bed or in the bathroom waking up.

Taglist: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

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satrs · 3 months ago

Text

In TOOOO Deep!

SYNOPSIS. Trapped and even thinner patience, neither can escape the heat, or each other. One question remains: who will break first?

FEAT. Xavier. Zayne. Rafayel. Sylus. Caleb. xfem!reader

TAGS. 18+ CONTENT! MDNI! smeggual content. Forced proximity. unprotected intercourse. dörty talk. size k!ink. refering to yer' püüsy as 'her'. doggy. slight exhibitionism. sylus & zayne are married to reader. fingering, cunnilingus in calebs. slight roleplay in calebs. heavyyy praise in sylus. kinda soft seggs in sylus.

✎ A/N; I CAN'T ESCAPE THESE GUYS PLEASE RELEASE MEEEEE! (please don't I'm jolly as hell in my gooner cave) Much love and happy reading! <3

XAVIER ꩜ Caught In Heat!

Who knew that a duo mission with your fellow hunter would end up like this? You and him trapped in a random rundown motel somewhere in nirvana with an angry storm brewing outside?

Well, shit happens.

The power flickers, casting deep shadows across the room, and the air smells like rain-soaked pavement and dust. The shitty heater barely works, leaving the cold to settle in your bones, but the real reason you’re shivering isn’t the temperature.

It’s him.

The lights flicker again, barely holding, and the air is damp with humidity. Rain pounds against the windows, a relentless, violent rhythm. You should be resting, saving your strength for whatever waits beyond this storm. But instead, you’re here, standing at the edge of the bed, pulse pounding, your body drawn tight with something far more dangerous than the mission itself.

Across the room, Xavier watches you, bright eyes sharp even in the dim light. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at you. Calculating. Assessing. Like he already knows what you want before you do.

“You’re staring,” he says, voice cool, measured.

You swallow, shifting under his gaze. “So are you.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. “I always watch what's mine.”

The words send a pulse of heat straight to your cunt.

You take a step toward him, testing. “Then take it.”

The shift in his expression is instant. A spark of something dark, something starving, flashes in his eyes.

Xavier moves fast. One second he’s across the room, the next he’s got you pinned against the wall, braced hand beside your head. His body presses into yours, solid and unyielding, his warmth seeping into you through the layers of damp clothing.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” His voice is low, dangerous, the barest hint of a growl curling around the words, ghosting over your lips.

You tilt your chin up, refusing to back down. “Then show me.”

is lips crush against yours at that with a force that steals your breath, his fingers sliding down to grip your throat, holding you still as he claims you completely. The hand is cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing into yours.

Your fingers tangle in his uniform, tugging, desperate for more. He growls against your mouth, then suddenly spins you, shoving you onto the bed in one swift motion.

“On your knees, angel.” he commands, his tone sharp, controlled.

You obey, pulse hammering as you brace yourself on the mattress. The air shifts behind you, and then his hands are on your waist. His fingers press into your skin, mapping every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

“You want me?” His voice is right at your ear now, his breath hot against your skin, as he swats a teasing clasp to your ass. “Right here? Now?”

Your hands fist in the sheets. “M-mhmm.”

His fingers trail down, slipping between your legs, finding you already soaked. He lets out a sharp breath, his control fracturing at the edges.

“What a mess” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, “Bet you've been like this the whole mission.”

You whimper, pushing back against his touch, but he pulls away, leaving you aching.

Then, your breath catches at the sound of a zipper before Xavier grips your hips aligning his mushroomy tip to your clenchin entrance, and slams into you in one brutal thrust.

Your vision whites out, your entire body arching as you stretch around him, the sheer size of him stealing the air from your lungs. A ragged gasp rips from your throat as he sinks deep, so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach.

“Too much?” His voice is taunting, but caring, something needy behind it. You shake your head, nails digging into the sheets. “Wan' more.”

A dark chuckle rings your ear. “Greedy.”

Xavier doesn’t ease into it, doesn’t give you time to adjust. His thrusts are sharp, precise, calculated—like he knows exactly how to break you apart, how to leave you gasping and shaking beneath him. Each snap of his hips punches a sound from your throat, his pace relentless, merciless.

“Arch that damn back f' me,” he mutters, voice thick with something raw. You comply, arching further into the matress as your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Jussssst like that.”

A sharp slap! lands on your ass, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through you. You cry out, but he only tightens his grip, yanking you back onto him harder, needier.

“This what you wanted?” He leans down, his teeth grazing your ear, hand clasping around your neck to push you flush against his chest. “Letting me fuck you like this during a mission? Tsk, Tsk, what a unreliable hunter.”

You’re beyond words now, lost in the way his damned cock hits the bulls-eye in your insides over and over again, poor cunt gushing with each prod at your cervix, only able to nod weakly.

“You could've just asked. Would never deny my sweet princess.” he whispers again, but his voice wavers, his own restraint unraveling. His hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you upright, forcing your spine to arch as he fucks into you deeper.

"Xavvvv'! Fuck!"

His lips graze your throat, his breath ragged. “Say my name again.”

You do—gasping, moaning, begging for him to — you don't even know what for at this point.

Xavier groans, his pace faltering for a split second before he regains control, thrusting harder, pushing you closer to that edge.

“Gonna cum, huh?” His fingers slide between your legs, finding your most sensitive button and circling just right. “C'mon.”

The order snaps something inside you, and you shatter around him, a broken sob tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes over you in violent waves. Your whole body shakes, muscles tensing as he fucks you through it.

Xavier curses, his grip bruising as he thrusts once, twice more, then he himself falls apart.

A deep, shuddering groan spills from his lips as he buries himself to the hilt emptying his heavy load into you, his body trembling against yours. You feel the heat of him spilling deep inside you, his breath ragged against your ear.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The storm still rages outside, but in here, it’s just your gasps, his heartbeat hammering against your back, no worries whatsoever.

Finally, he pulls away just enough to press a slow, almost lazy kiss to your shoulder. His voice is lower now, rough with spent desire.

Then, he lets out a rough chuckle, his grip on you finally loosening. “That’s one way to pass the time.” he mutters, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

Your groan echoing in response, smacking the arm wraped around your body weakly. “Shut up.”

Xavier just smirks, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him.

“No promises.”

ZAYNE ꩜ Locked In!

The soft click of the door echoes through the dimly lit office.

Zayne exhales, rubbing his temple, his eyes glinting under the sterile glow of the desk lamp. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You go to jiggle the handle, confirming what you both already know. “The janitor must’ve locked up without noticing us.”

Zayne doesn’t reply immediately, just watches you with that unnerving, unreadable gaze—the one that makes your pulse quicken for reasons that have nothing to do with being locked in.

He leans back against his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression smooth, controlled. But you don’t miss the flicker of something darker beneath the surface.

Annoyance? Amusement?

Neither.

Something else entirely.

“Well,” he finally says, his voice rich with amusement, “looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders. “Could be worse, I guess.”

A smirk tugs at his lips that you fail to notice. Dangerous.

He tilts his head, studying you like a patient on his table. Slow. Intrigued. Almost predatory.

“Why don’t we kill some time, then?”

The air shifts—subtle, but still sufforcating.

Before you can respond, he’s behind you, his movements so swift, so effortless, you barely register them before his hands are on your waist, firm and unyielding.

His fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns against your stomach before sliding upward, guiding you to his desk only to shove the papers on there to the side, brushing over your ribs, teasing the edge of your collarbone.

Then his lips find your ear, his breath a ghost of heat against your skin.

“There's not much to do anyway,” he growls, voice like silk laced with steel. His grip tightens as he presses his straining cock against you, the warmth of his body sinking into yours. “Might aswell use the time before the janitor comes back.”

“Zayne, we’re in your office,” you manage, breath shuddering, but the protest is weak, meaningless.

A quiet chuckle vibrates against your neck before he continues to plaster your collar with teasing kisses. “And?”

Then he’s turning you, guiding you back until your hips hit the edge of his desk. His golden eyes bore into yours—intense, unwavering—as he nudges your legs apart, stepping between them like he belongs there.

“You always talk about spicing things up,” he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over your waistband, toying with the fabric in slow, torturous strokes. “And we've never tried having fun in here.” His jaw tightens. “There's no hurt in trying.”

A shiver rolls through you as he commands you to turn around, your palms bracing against the cool surface of his desk. The heat of his presence lingers behind you, his breath featherlight against the back of your neck.

His hands drag down your back, low, teasing, before gripping your waistband and yanking your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. The cool air hits you as you cage your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes sending him a teasing glare.

Zayne exhales, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass before sliding between your thighs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint.

A sharp gasp escapes as his fingers glide through your slick folds, parting them, exploring. He groans, the sound low and possessive.

“Already so soaked,” he muses, voice dark with satisfaction. “You like this, don't you? A naughty wife I see.”

Your hips jerk as he presses two firm fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

“Zayne, please—”

He hums approvingly, his movements controlled—like he’s testing you, studying the way your body reacts under his touch. His fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, but never quite dipping in.

“So desperate,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your spine.

Suddenly, he withdraws. The loss is unbearable, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

Quit the teasing, he can't take it anymore.

Your hips wiggle in excitement as his heft length slaps against the valley of your ass, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your hole, thick and teasing, dragging through your wetness with maddening patience.

“C'monnn,” you whine, pushing back against him, tip just barely sliding insde you, and you greedily catch! his angry tip, desperatly trying to suck him int further.

With one sharp exhale he thrusts in, sinking into you in one long, unyielding stroke, knocking the air out of your lungs almost imediently.

A choked cry escapes yyou as he stretches you wide, fills you to the brim, the sheer size of him forcing every nerve in your body to light up, as a prolonged moan slips from your lips, head slamming against the desk at the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands tightening on your hips like he’s barely holding himself together. “Always so tight and ready for me.”

He stills for a moment, buried deep, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths against your back to compose himself. Then, just as you begin to adjust to his massive girth, just as the pleasure starts to settle—

He moves.

The first thrust is deep, calculated. The second is sharper, quicker, even. By the third, he’s pounding into you, loosing himself at your contracting greedy walls, each deep stroke sliding your body further onto the cold desk, whole furniture shaking and you could even think the legs of the chair might collapse.

The office is filled with the filthy sounds of skin meeting skin, the wetness between your thighs only adding to the obscene rhythm of his movements.

“Not so loudddd, darlin'” he teases, voice rough and hungry. “Wouldn't want anyone to hear, hm?”

His fingers slide between your legs, pressing against your clit yet in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, your mouth agape as drool dripps down onto some godforsaken document both of you could give less of a fjuck about right now.

“Zayne—oh. my. fuck!” Words coming out in punctured huffs, your vision blurs, whole body tightening as each push of his hip would surely send you flying if you didn't hold on.

He groans breathlessly, pace unwavering. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make you arch. “Take it, sweetheart.”

Pleasure coiling tighter, hotter, until you’re right at the edge—

"Be a good wife and cum all over your husbands cock, pretty please."

With that you break, body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you with force, a strangled cry leaves your lips, hole clenching him tight, leaving your legs shaking, giving out on you.

Zayne curses, his movements stuttering, struggling against the unyielding grip of your spasming cunt.

With a final, deep thrust, he plundges his entire cock inside you, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat as his own release crashes over him. Heaty cum fills you, his grip on your hips tightening as he rutts against your ass, his breath ragged, uneven.

The haze of pleasure still clings to you, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you slump limplessly against the desk. Zayne’s hands remain on your hips, his grip possessive, his chest rising and falling behind you as he catches his breath.

Then,

The unmistakable sound of keys jingling.

“Hello?” A rough voice cuts through the heavy air and your heart stops. “Thought I heard somethin’ in here—”

Zayne doesn’t move. He stays buried inside you, still hard, still throbbing. He doesn’t even flinch. If anything, you feel his smirk against your skin before he finally pulls out, his fingers dipping between your thighs to push his release back deep inside you.

“Messy,” he murmurs, so low only you can hear, “This is all thanks to her", his eyes glued to your talkative hole, amusement evident on his face.

You glare at him, but before you can open your mouth, the janitor sighs from behind the door.

“Damn pipes,” the old man mutters. “Always makin’ weird noises.”

The jingle of keys fades, footsteps retreating.

Thankfully, the door never opens.

Then, silence.

“You are noisy,” he muses, fixing his tie, completely unbothered.

You whirl on him, mortified, hurriedly yanking your pants back into place. “And you’re impossible!”

He grins, utterly shameless, dragging you back into his arms. His fingers are already creeping under your waistband again.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, golden eyes gleaming.

“We’re not done yet.”

RAFAYEL ꩜ (7 Minutes) In Heaven!

Rafayel has been avoiding Thomas all day.

You know it, Thomas knows it, and judging by how Rafayel is nowhere to be found, he knows you are onto him.

“If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him,” Thomas sighs, rubbing his temple, frustrated. “It’s important.”

You nod, catching an inkling of Rafayel’s intention. “Of course, I’ll let him know.”

The moment Thomas walks away toward the kitchen in search of the artist in god-knows-where, you turn on your heel, heading straight for Rafayel’s room. If he isn’t anywhere else, you have a good guess where he is hiding.

You push open the door, stepping inside. Silence meets you, but the air feels charged, like someone was here just moments before.

Then, your gaze drifts to the walk-in closet.

Bingo.

Suspicious, you make your way over and pull the door open only to find Rafayel, lounging against the shelves like he belongs there, arms crossed over his chest, pout streching his features.

“I knew it,” you accuse, raising an eyebrow. “Hiding now, are we?”

He doesn’t even look the slightest bit guilty. Instead, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “I wouldn’t call it hiding. More like, avoiding unnecessary stress.”

You huff. “Thomas is looking for you.”

“I’m aware,” he says smoothly, then reaches forward and before you can react, he tugs you inside and shuts the door behind you.

The sound of the lock clicking into place sends a shiver down your spine.

“Rafayel,” you warn, pressing a hand against his chest. “We can’t just—” He leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “We can.”

The space is small, the air thick with his scent—clean, expensive, so damn intoxicating. His presence surrounds you, and it is impossible to focus on anything but him. Well, the rock-hard buldge of his might be a competition.

“You came looking for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers tracing down your spine. “So stay.”

You swallow hard. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His hands slide lower, resting on your hips. “Or are you putting on the tought girl act right now?”

Your breath hitches as he presses you against the shelves, his body warm and firm against yours.

“Rafayel—”

“Hmmm?” His voice is a purr, full of dark amusement.

“You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, fingers sneaking to your pants, tugging at the fabric teasingly. “And you love it.”

You don’t get a chance to argue, not when he captures your lips in a heated kiss, not when he pushes you so impossibly close and surely not when he's rutting his needy cock against your clothed core.

It is slow at first, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. His lips move against yours expertly, coaxing you open, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

His hands are everywhere, roaming up your back, sliding beneath your shirt, exploring every inch of exposed skin.

Heat pools in your stomach at his words. The thought of being caught, of Thomas standing just outside, completely unaware of what is happening behind the locked door, it only makes you want him more.

He turns you around, pressing your front against the shelves. His hands roam over your curves, his breath hot against your neck.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you all day,” he murmurs, his fingers teasing between your thighs. You gasp, your body arching into his touch.

“Already so wet,” he muses, his voice thick with satisfaction. “All for me.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he replaces his fingers with the head of his bulky cock head, teasingly rubbing it against your slick, glisterning folds.

“Tell me you want this,” his voice is low, dark and lustful.

“P-please—”

That is all he needs.

With one percise thrust, he buries himself inside you, a choked moan escapes your lips as he stretches you to your limits, filling you completely. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he sets a rythmic pace.

“So tight,” he groans, his breath ragged. “You feel incredible.”

You clench around him, and he curses under his breath.

His pace quickens, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the closet, along with the quiet, breathy moans you can’t hold back.

“Nghhh— good, sooo good!”

“Shh,” he murmurs, though the smirk in his voice is undeniable. “You don’t want Thomas knocking on the door, do you?”

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

Just as you are about to answer, you hear the faint sound of footsteps outside—too close. Thomas’s voice echoes down the hallway, rattling the doorknob faintly. “Rafayel?”

Rafayel’s hands tighten on your hips, his movements slowing as if he can feel the tension in your body. The door handle turns again, then stops. The footsteps retreat, but they are still too close.

He smirks, his breath hot against your neck. His thrusts deepen, pressing you harder against the shelves, the sound of his body against yours echoing in the small space, shelf shaking with it's contents. He moves with deliberate slowness now, each thrust calculated, as if daring you to make a sound.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispers, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Not a word.”

His fingers find your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Every movement feels heightened, the danger of being caught making every sensation sharper, more intense.

You' re already close— so damn close, your breath catching with each thrust of his, tip bullying the entrance of your womb meanly.

With one last commanding push, he groans, burying himsel in so deep, his hot sticky cum shoots right into your womb, the fullness of it all making your jump over the edge, cumming so hard you can barely breathe.

Then, the door rattles— again.

You and him simuntaniously freeze, staring at the door, listening to the muffled sound of Thomas’s voice growing frustrated on the other side.

“Okay, you two, this is getting ridiculous. I know you’re in there! I don’t care what’s going on, just come out already!”

Rafayel’s smirk deepens, though you can feel his body tense slightly as the sound of Thomas’s exasperation fills the air.

You chuckle breathlessly but hushed, still trembling, mind racing with the absurdity of the situation. “Wanna go out of hiding?”

Rafayel chuckles low in your ear, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “He’ll live.”

The sound of Thomas sighing and muttering something unintelligible echoes through the door as he walks away, still clearly annoyed.

You exhale a shaky breath, your body still humming with tension. Rafayel doesn’t say anything more, he doesn’t need to. You both know what this is, and somehow, the chaos of almost getting caught only makes it more thrilling.

“I think we should really get out of here before he comes back,” you say with a shaky laugh, though you aren’t quite ready to leave yet.

Rafayel pulls you closer, brushing his lips against your ear once more. “Noooo,” he complains with a whiny voice, thick with annoyance.

“Just one more, pleaseee?”

SYLUS ꩜ Bound to You!

“This is ridiculous,” you huff, holding up your wrist to emphasize the glowing cuff binding you to your husband.

Sylus chuckles, utterly unbothered as he examines the energy linkage with a lazy smirk. “You say that, but I think fate just enjoys tying us together.”

You shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real heat. This isn’t the first time the protocore’s strange energy has done something like this, though back then, you weren’t married. Now, the situation feels even more absurd.

“We’re literally handcuffed together,” you deadpan.

He tilts his head, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Well, I did vow to stay by your side, didn’t I?”

You groan, tugging at the glowing chain connecting your wrists. It doesn’t budge. “I just wanna go to bed.”

Sylus hums, stepping closer—so close you can feel the warmth of his body. “Oh we'll go to bed, alright.”

His voice dips, rich and smooth, the way it always does when he’s teasing you, something you’ve grown used to over the years.

You narrow your eyes. “Sy'.”

He grins, giving the chain a light tug so that you stumble forward, right into his chest. His free hand finds your waist, steadying you as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Or,” he murmurs, “we could make the best of it.”

Your pulse skips.

His fingers brush your hip, and even through the thin fabric of your nightwear, his touch sends warmth curling low in your stomach.

“This again?” you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Oh, come now.” He lifts your bound wrists, kissing your knuckles before meeting your gaze. His ruby orbs gleam with something dark. “Don’t tell me you don’t love this just a little.”

You swallow, unable to deny because he's right. He always was.

He strokes slow, soothing patterns against your bare thigh, watching you through half-lidded, satisfied eyes. “We’re married now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it?”

You exhale shakily as he guides you toward the bed, his movements slow, as if savoring every second.

The moment your back hits the mattress, Sylus is above you, his free hand splayed against your side, fingers flexing like he’s resisting the urge to grab you harder.

His gaze softens as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. “My darling wife,” he purls, voice thick with affection. “Would love to be cuffed with you forever.”

He kisses you, moving like he has all the time in the world, deepening the kiss only when you sigh against him, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your toes curl, head spinning.

The chain between you clinks softly as he adjusts, pressing closer, his thigh slotting between yours.

His touch is everywhere—skimming your waist, teasing over your ribs, sliding beneath your shirt with aching slowness.

He pulls back slightly, golden eyes searching yours. “Breathtaking,” he breathes, voice reverent. “And you’re all mine.”

Heat pools in your stomach as he kisses down your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin, free hand slipping beneath your waistband to tease his pads onto your swolled clit, you gasp, arching into his touch.

Sylus groans, his forehead dropping against yours. “Ohh, she's an eager one,” he breathes, his fingers dipping between your folds, sliding along them. “All ready for me.”

The slow, careful movements turn teasing, his fingers circling your clit, stroking you with just enough pressure to drive you mad.

Suddenly, one finger teases your neglected entrance, sloooowly entering, searching it's way through your cavity.

You whimper, bound wrist jerking slightly as you try to grasp onto something—anything—but all you can do is grip his hand, fingers tangling with his.

“Perfect,” he whispers, firm, kissing along your jaw. “Every part of you.”

A second finger follows suit, curling upward, bumping against you gushy walls, loud sounds clouding his mind in lust.

You shudder, body tightening under his praise. “P-please, Sy'—”

He hushes you with another kiss, fingers slipping inside you with ease, fingers curling right into the spot he memorized throuout the years, smirking against your lips at your broken shriek.

And fuck, he’s grinding into you like he’s losing his mind, hips bucking wildly, precum smearing across his briefs, desperate for even a sliver of relief.

He’s groaning against your lips like he might fall apart first, cock so achingly hard it twitches helplessly with every snap of his hips, every slick flick of his wrist.

You can feel it, how far gone he’s let himself get, and it pushes you closer and closer, sharp heat building unbearably low in your belly.

Your grip tightens in his hair again, tugging harder, forcing his mouth impossibly closer to your mouth as you gasp into him, voice breaking. “Fuck, Sy', don’t stop, don’t—”

He answers only with a deep, wrecked moan, fingers curling further, moving faster, scraping against your walls with the single-minded intent to see you coming undone.

The lewd slap of his wrist against your core echoing alongside the wet, obscene sounds of the breathless kiss you cage him in, your hips bucking up further into his touch, so impossibly close to release.

Thighs starting to shake uncontrollably, every nerve on fire, your body arching, bowstring-tight as he drives you over the edge without mercy. The combination of his filthy mouth, the desperate, hungry sounds spilling from his mouth snaps something inside you.

His words push you over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your walls clench around his fingers, back arching into his chest as a broken moan slips from your lips.

Only when you're spent body slumps against the sheets, chest heaving, does he finally pull away, dark pupils blown wide.

Sylus groans, his expression caught between awe and pure hunger.

Before you can fully come down, he’s freeing himself from his boxers, guiding his free hand around his cock, lining himself up with you.

“Goooood job,” he murmurs, voice soft yet sharp. “Now lets repeat this mess on my cock, yes?”

You barely have time to respond before he presses forward, sinking into you with a deep, slow thrust, a gasp tears from your lips as he stretches you in the most perfect way, like you're made for him. Because you are.

Sylus lets out a shaky breath, his head dropping against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he groans. “You feel unreal, sweetie.”

He stays still for a moment, savoring the way your body wraps around him. Then, he pulls back and thrusts in again, setting a slow, sensual rhythm.

The chain between your wrists clinks softly with every movement, a constant reminder of how intimately you’re connected.

Sylus takes his time, each thrust measured, his hands roaming your body, his lips pressing lingering kisses against your skin.

“My wife,” he murmurs, his voice thick with devotion. “You’re everything to me.”

The way he moves, the way he worships you with every touch, every word—it sends you spiraling closer to the edge again.

Sylus feels it, his rhythm faltering slightly. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasps, his free hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit.

Your breath catches, pleasure surging through you like fire. “Mhmm! Gonna cum again, Sy'!—”

“That’s it,” he whispers, his pace quickening. “Cum with me.”

The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, then you shatter. Your orgasm tears through you, body tightening, back arching, pleasure consuming every nerve.

Sylus groans, his own release following as he thrusts into you one final time, his body trembling as he spills his hot spurts of cum inside you.

Suddenly, the glow around your wrists flickers.

With a soft shimmer, the energy linkage disappears entirely, the cuffs vanishing as if they were never there to begin with.

Sylus lets out a breathless laugh, collapsing beside you. “Huh. Looks like we found the key.” You groan, smacking his chest weakly. “You would say that.”

He grins, gathering you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Hope you aren't planning on sleeping now, sweetheart," he muses, mischief dancing in his crimson gaze. His fingers trail down, dipping between your thighs to catch his leaking cum, only to pluck it in again.

"Because I wouldn’t count on getting any rest tonight."

CALEB ꩜ Going... Down?!

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, the lights flickering once before stabilizing into a dim glow.

Well, how fucking great.

You groan, pressing the emergency button, but nothing happens. “Of course,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

Caleb leans back against the wall, completely unbothered, arms folded over his broad chest, an easy smirk playing on his lips. “Well, looks like we’re stuck.”

You glance at him. “No shit.”

He chuckles, tilting his head at you, hat slightly shifting. “No need to sound so grumpy, sweets. Think of it as quality time, hm?”

You huff, but your irritation barely lasts under his lazy, amused gaze.

A few moments pass in silence before Caleb shifts, stepping closer. His presence alone makes the air feel heavier, warmer.

Your eyes meet his, and the way he looks at you sends heat straight to your core.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “You’re tense.”

You swallow as he reaches out, his fingers brushing over your wrist before trailing down, ghosting over your hip.

“Caleb—”

“Mm?” His smirk widens, but his touch stays gentle, coaxing, teasing. “I'm just tryin' ta help.”

Your breath hitches as his hand slides lower, fingers toying with your uniform pants.

“Here?” you whisper, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Why not?” His fingers slip past the fabric, brushing over your panties. “No one’s comin' anytime soon.”

The way he says it so casually, careless, makes your stomach tighten, your legs pressing together involuntarily.

Caleb snickers, his fingers pressing against your clit through the thin fabric, applying just enough pressure to make your breath stutter. “You like the risk, don’t you?”

You bite your lip, body already betraying you before your mouth can even try to.

He hums, clearly pleased, before slipping his hand beneath your underwear, his fingers finding your wetness.

A sharp inhale leaves you as he traces slow circles over your clit, his other hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

“She’s always so damn wet,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction.

Your head falls back against the cool metal as he slides a finger inside you, the stretch teasing, not nearly enough.

“M-more,” you whisper.

Caleb groans, mouth brushing over your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

He adds another finger, curling them just right, his pace slow and deliberate. The quiet slick of your arousal fills the small space, making your cheeks burn. His lips ghost over your ear. “Yer' gonna have ta' be quiet, sweets.”

Your breath hitches as he presses his thumb to your clit, his movements intensifying. Your free hand clutches at his unrelenting wrist, body trembling. “Nghh— r-right there! Ouuuhh!”

“Shhhhh,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Don’t want anyone knowing how good I’m making you feel, do you?”

His pace doesn’t falter, his fingers fucking you with precision, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Cum for me.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm crashes through you, your walls clenching around his fingers, your body tensing as waves of pleasure roll over you.

Caleb groans, watching you come undone, his fingers soaked in your spurting release, and ohhh— he’s nowhere near done yet.

He takes off his commanding hat, placing it onto your head, then sinks to his knees in an instant, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right above the fabric of your pants. “Will ya’ let me get a taste, colonel?”

You gasp as he hooks his fingers into your waistband and drags your uniform pants down, exposing your trembling legs.

“M-mhmm—”

He shoots you a wicked grin before pressing his mouth against your soaked panties, the heat of his tongue searing even through the fabric. He inhales deeply, humming in approval. “Ya smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your fingers tangle into his dark strands, your other hand clawing at something, anything, as he pulls the damp material aside and licks a slow, teasing stripe over your swollen clit.

Your knees buckle, but he catches you, one strong arm locking around your waist, keeping you upright as he works his tongue over you—circling, flicking, sucking—with a patience that makes your head spin.

“C-Caleb—!”

“Yeahhh, I know,” he growls, dragging his tongue lower, teasing your entrance before dipping inside, his nose brushing against your clit.

The combination of his fingers and his mouth is overwhelming. Heat pools in your core again, another orgasm creeping up on you too soon.

He feels it, senses it, and doubles down—sucking harder, his tongue pressing in deep. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you wide open for him as he feasts.

Your breath hitches, thighs quivering around his head, his hat sliding slightly over your eyes as you tilt your head down, and then—

White-hot pleasure bursts through you, your hands flying to his hair, moans muffled as you bite down on your lip to keep from screaming his name.

Caleb groans against you, lapping up every bit of your sweet juices, his own arousal pressing painfully against his pants.

Just as your body sags against the cool metal wall, the elevator lets out a soft ding.

Your eyes snap open just as the doors begin to slide apart. Panic shoots through you as you scramble to pull up your pants, your legs still shaking.

This absolute bastard just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirk lazy and completely unrepentant.

A fleet officer peers in, eyebrows raised.

“Everything alright in here?”

Caleb shoots you a smirk, taking his hat from you before ruffling your hair teasingly, turning back to the officer. “Oh, we’re doing fine. Time flew by. Am I right, pips'?”

Your breath is still uneven, your mind still clouded from your second orgasm. You struggle to find a normal response, forcing out a weak, “Y-yeah. Time flew.”

The officer gives you an odd look but ultimately shrugs. “Alright then.”

As you step out, still flustered, Caleb leans in, his breath red and heated against your ear.

“Let’s do this again once we’re home,” he whispers, his voice dripping with promise,

“But this time, you squirt on my dick.”

#◛⑅·˚ ᵂᴼᴿᴷ #♡˳ᴸ&ᴰˢ #lads smut #l&ds #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace #caleb smut #sylus smut #zayne smut #rafayel smut #xavier smut #lads #love and deep space

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